The Unspeakables
by LilyAyl
Summary: The Avengers attend Hogwarts during the gap between the two Voldemort wars. Chapter Five: 1984-1985. It is the Avengers' third year at Hogwarts. When secrets and misunderstandings abound, new friendships form while others fray. This is a year of beginnings and endings. 46/50
1. Assemble at Hogwarts

**Notes:**

Many thanks to HopefulNebula for the beta.

This story started as a mental game of figuring out how the Avengers characters would translate to Harry Potter. It snowballed.

This story takes place the school year immediately following the first defeat of Voldemort. The Avengers (sans Thor, plus Jane) start Hogwarts the same year as Bill Weasley. Darcy starts two years later-same as Charlie Weasley. Thor attends Durmstrang.

* * *

**-Natasha & Clint-**

"So which house do you think we'll end up in?" Clint asks. He is perched along the heavy arm of a tree near the border of their properties. Natasha walks along the rail of the great fence the branch extends over with easy grace. She spins into a handstand and Clint catches her feet even though she no longer needs him to do so.

"I'll be in Slytherin, of course," she says.

"Of course," Clint says, something patronizing in his tone. She pulls from his grasp and returns to her feet, wobbling a moment as she regains her balance. Clint is grinning at her, as she'd known he would be.

"You'll be," she draws out the word, thinking. She squints at him and then glances at the ground. "Either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"Don't think I can survive the snake's den with you?" Clint asks. He joins her on the high fence and paces backward and forward, his arms wheeling wildly.

"I don't think you can survive being underground," Natasha corrects. "You'll want a tower. So, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor."

"Better make it Gryffindor then," Clint says, even as Natasha wrinkles her nose at the thought of having a Gryffindor for a best friend. He leans back on his branch. "We're going to be enemies, aren't we?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Natasha says. She tries a cartwheel away from him, but falls instead. She's learned, over the years, how to make the fall less painful. She rolls with it, laughing when she's recovered control. She leans back on her elbows and looks up at Clint. "We're allies," she tells him.

"Friends," he corrects, rolling his eyes.

She flicks a puff of dandelion seeds toward him. "It's everyone else we have to worry about."

* * *

**-Bruce-**

Bruce stirs his cereal slowly, letting the milk seep in and turn his Cheerios into mush. His father had come in late that night. The door had slammed open and shut, echoing through the house like a clap of thunder. Bruce had awakened immediately, though he'd kept in bed with his eyes squeezed shut and awaiting the inevitable cacophony. But it appeared to have been an all right night, because instead he'd only heard the television switch on. The sinister music of a horror movie crept up through his floor and had lulled him back to sleep.

His father is awake now. And at the table, eating in the dim light. He'd cussed until Bruce's mother had turned off the kitchen light and pulled the pale blue curtains closed over the window above the sink. So Bruce is eating as quietly as he can manage and forcing himself not to make faces at the mush sliding back over his tongue.

He has already made his parents' lives difficult enough. He can manage this much. Besides, he's finally received his letter-the one he'd been promised years ago after his first full moon-and a teacher from his future school will be visiting later to help him buy his school things.

Bruce swallows down more of his cereal mush, giving nearly all of his concentration to the task. His parents at either end of the table are likewise silent. He wonders if the breakfasts without him will be like this. He doesn't want to leave his mother, is actively terrified of leaving her, but maybe things will be better without him.

He hopes, anyway. Bruce quietly skims his spoon along the base of his bowl and sips a spoonful of milk thickly rimmed on one side with sugar. The summer is half over, soon he will be at school and life will be better for everyone.

* * *

**-Steve-**

Once they are in Diagon Alley, Steve's nana does not remark on the scales dancing in one shop window or strange, long robes everyone seemed to wear, or their great hats. Instead she scans the alley, her mouth tightening like a puckered seam. "You've had a war," she says. Their guide, Professor Quirrel, startles and then looks around the street as if trying to see what Nana had seen.

"Yes, well," he says, his hands flapping about like fish on a dock. Nana gives him the _Not Amused_ look and Professor Quirrel stills.

"When did it end?" Nana asks.

"A year ago, about. We're all quite safe now. Really."

Steve looks up at his nana as she hums. This is her _Very Not Amused_ hum. Steve knows about war from his grandparents' bedtime stories. He's figured out that war isn't a happy thing, but that people have to make the best of it and that's how it becomes an adventure. Sometimes the sad parts can be too much though, like when his grandpa's voice gets thick and hoarse mid-story and he has to go be alone for a little while.

Steve isn't sure he wants to go into a world with war. He looks up at his nana nervously, wondering if accepting the strange letter had been a good idea after all. Nana squeezes his hand and pats his knuckles with her free hand. "We'll be wanting to learn more about your recent history, first, I think. The bookstore, perhaps?" Her voice is crisp and low.

"O-of course," Professor Quirrel says. "This way."

In the book store, Nana immediately goes to the recent history section and starts thumbing through books. Professor Quirrel touches Steve's shoulder.

"Why don't we get your school books while we're here?" He gestures to the second-floor balcony where Steve can see several other people around his age. He glances to his nana.

"Go ahead," Nana says. "And see if you can find any good novels while you're up there."

Steve grins. "Do wizards have novels?" he asks Professor Quirrel.

"Oh yes," he says. "We have novels and poetry and even comic books."

His eyes widen and he can hear Nana laugh behind him. "Comic books?"

"I'll show you after we get your textbooks," Professor Quirrel says, leading him upstairs. "There's a series that started only a couple months ago that I think you'll like. _Martin Miggs_. It is not very accurate, but very silly and fun."

"That sounds like it might be all right, Professor" Steve says, politely.

"Might be?" Professor Quirrel asks. "It was v-very popular last year."

Steve ducks his head. "I just like superhero stories better," he says.

Professor Quirrel smiles. "Me too. There's one about three brothers who use magic gifts they win from Death himself to help people all over the world."

"Can we look at that one?" he asks.

"Of course."

When Steve meets his nana back downstairs, she has a stack of three books and he has a much larger stack, plus the first five issues of _Brothers Three_ and one issue of _Martin Miggs_.

That night, instead of his usual bedtime story, Nana reads aloud from one of her books and Steve learns about Harry Potter, the little baby who ended the war.

The book makes the story sound like an adventure, but as Steve falls asleep, he thinks about how Harry Potter's parents are dead now, too, and he knows that the story is also a sad one.

* * *

**-Jane & Darcy-**

"Jane! We're going to be late for the train."

Jane chews her lip, her gaze darting at each of the books she's laid out across her bed. Stacks of discarded books surround her. "Coming! Just one more minute!"

"Yeah, she stopped believing that the fifth time you said it."

"Oh, Darcy, thank Merlin, help!" Jane gestures at the books. She's narrowed it down to the ones on the bed, but she isn't sure that they're the right ones.

Darcy steps around the book stacks carefully and joins Jane at the bed. "You realize that Hogwarts has its own library, right? Full of books. I've not seen it, but I've heard stories. Multiple shelves even."

"_Darcy_." This is so not the time for joking, but Darcy has a point. Jane forces herself to stop worrying about her selection and picks up her book bag.

"Fine, fine." Darcy gives the fraying bag a critical look. "I hope that bag of yours has a weightless charm."

Jane starts to worry her lip again. "An old one, but it should be fine."

"How old?" Darcy asks, dubiously.

"It'll be fine." It has to be fine.

"All right then." Darcy helps her stack the books and fit them into the bag. She has a way with packing, fitting books into gaps Jane wouldn't have considered. In the end, all but two books are stuffed into the bag. Jane trades a sweater from her trunk for the last two.

"That's everything." She shoulders her bag and starts to drag her trunk to the stairs for her mother to take down.

"Are you sure?" Darcy asks, laughter in her voice.

"Books, school books, clothes, supplies-" She visualizes her packed trunk and the probable locations of all her necessities. "-that's everything." She resumes her dragging and is about to call out to her mother, when Darcy coughs.

"Er, Jane? You might need this." Jane looks back to see Darcy waving her wand back and forth.

Jane winces. "Right." She starts shifting her bags to grab it, wondering how she'll hold it and drag her case at the same time, but Darcy rolls her eyes and twirls a finger.

"Turn around."

"What?" Jane asks, already turning.

"Trust me." Darcy weaves the wand through the base of Jane's ponytail. "There. How are you ever going to survive two years at Hogwarts without me?"

"I'll manage." Jane turns back around and wraps Darcy in a tight hug. "I'm going to miss you."

"Hey, you're not saying 'good-bye' yet. I'm going to the train with you."

"You are?" But before Darcy can answer, she notices the clock over her bed. "Oh, the train, we're going to be late."

Darcy laughs and calls down the stairs. "We're on our way down."

* * *

**-Virginia Potts (& Tony & Bruce)-**

Virginia arrived at the train early. Her father helped stow her trunk; and, she had plenty of time to purchase some sweets with the money her mother had pressed on her before the line at the cart grows with the other students rushing on board. She has secured a car in the center of the train and is perfectly ready and at ease while chaos builds up around her. She empties three boxes of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans into a small, collapsible bowl and begins sorting out the gray ones into one of the empty boxes. Other colors are sorted into the other boxes based on their probable flavors and how much she likes or detests them. This is a soothing process and one she's perfected over the six years since she'd eaten her first jelly bean at age five.

Students bustle up and down the aisle; train compartment doors slide open and closed; greetings are loudly exchanged. Virginia wishes, not for the first time, that her parents had allowed her to attend Beauxbatons, rather than Hogwarts. At least then she'd be among friends. The UK is just a bunch of painted-in memories, the majority of which feature Christmas trees. With the war over, however, her parents saw no reason she shouldn't attend their alma mater.

The door to her compartment slams open. A boy tosses a suitcase onto one seat and slouches across from her, his feet propped on the seat beside her. "I'm here under protest," he says.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

The boy waves a hand around indicating the train. "This is ridiculous. All of it. Magic. As if that's done any good."

She blinks. This is not a conversation she'd anticipated having. "I'm Virginia Potts," she says, instead, deflecting.

"Tony Stark. Muggle-whatever."

"Muggleborn."

"Right." He knocks the side of his foot against her knee. "What're you doing?"

"Pulling out my favorite flavor." She offers him one of the grays.

Tony tosses it in his mouth and, a moment later, makes a face. Virginia looks down to hide her smile. "Pepper?"

"Yes."

Just then the compartment door slides open again. A small boy with messy brown hair and a button missing at his collar glances at them and steps back. "Sorry. You look full, I'll just-"

"Muggleborn or wizardborn?" Tony asks.

"Muggleborn?" the boy says, uncertainly.

Tony shoves his suitcase to the floor-Virginia has to raise her feet to keep from being hit-and slides down his seat. "Come, sit. I need someone normal to talk to. I'm Tony. This is Pepper."

"Virginia," she corrects, but Tony doesn't appear to hear her.

"I was just telling Pepper about the superiority of the normal world and she retaliated by giving me a vile sweet."

"I didn't realize we were having a debate," Virginia says. "Had I known I'd have given you a toffee or strawberry flavored bean instead."

The boy still stands nervously between them. Tony reaches up and tugs on his arm. "Sit down already. You're?"

"Bruce." He slides into the seat quietly, a small bag perched on his lap. He doesn't lean back in the seat and seems ready to leave at a moment's excuse. Tony appears to notice none of this.

"So, Bruce, what do you think of the new Doctor?"

"I like him," Bruce says without hesitation. Virginia had not thought the two boys knew each other, but now she is less certain. Bruce had seemed to almost recognize Tony when Tony had introduced himself; and, besides, how else would they know the same physician? "He's not as, well, mean as the Fourth Doctor."

"You like him? But-" Tony's hands move wildly. "-the _celery_. It's ridiculous."

Virginia finishes her sorting-favorite, foul, and fair-into her boxes, only half paying attention as Bruce and Tony discuss this 'doctor' in great detail. The man is fictional, she discovers, though she is curious why the Muggle world apparently considers medical work as a sort of magical power. Bruce relaxes into his seat while Tony bickers with him. Part of her wonders if that had been Tony's intent all along.

"You _can't_ think the Daleks are scary," Tony is saying. "They look like-" He stops, looking at her. "Hey, you're not secretly a purity-obsessed killer robot, are you?"

"What?" Bruce asks. "She looks nothing like—"

"She's Pepper Potts," Tony says, cutting him off. "The Daleks look like pepper pots. It was an honest question."

Bruce covers his face, his shoulders shaking slightly. Virginia just rolls her eyes. "First, my name is Virginia-"

"Pepper," Tony corrects, grinning broadly.

"—and, second, I am not aware of being anything other than a normal witch."

"So you could be a killer robot, but you're just not aware of it yet?"

Pepper narrows her eyes at him, but then instead, hands him and Bruce each a box of her sorted jelly beans. "Every Flavour Beans," she says.

"Beware the gray ones," Tony warns.

"I took all of those out."

Bruce selects out a dark blue one and then smiles. "Blueberry."

Tony pulls out a pale yellow one. "Yech. Vinegar. Seriously, what is wrong with you magic people and candy?"

Pepper just smiles and eats another of her grays.

* * *

**-Tony-**

All right. So the ceiling thing is cool and a lot more realistic than the planetarium he got to see when his father took the family to Chicago on a business trip. Tony wonders how accurate the sky projection is. He'll have to return at night and compare with star charts, maybe. The room has four massive tables, besides the one at the head, each under its own banner. These have to be the houses he'd heard some students discussing when he'd been looking for a place to sit on the train. He decides he wants either the red one or the yellow one-blue and green really aren't his colors.

He starts to move toward one of the tables, when Pepper from the train grabs his sleeve. "You have to be Sorted first," she hisses.

He's about to ask what she means when the floppy hat he'd dismissed as some sort of weird school mascot opens its brim and starts to sing. Given the way everyone, and he means everyone, is paying attention, he figures this song must be somewhat important in some other way than the fact it is impossibly coming from a piece of headgear. Tony pays attention and finally learns what the various houses mean. As the strict-looking professor in green starts calling up students to put on the hat and be told where to go (and seriously, how does that work?), Tony processes what he's learned. The Hat uses some sort of instant personality test to decide which House trait (bravery, cunning, intelligence, or dedication/just generally being a decent person) is most prominent.

He wonders if there is any correlation with the Myers-Briggs Types. He could probably—oh, Bruce joined the Ravens, good for him—create a program that mimicked the Sorting. He'd need data first, a survey to start, something based on the MBTI, maybe, but not just that. He'll need to consider multiple understandings of personality. Then he could start identifying the essential questions, the real test would be to use the program to pre-Sort next year or—another thought occurs to him, how much influence does a person have over their Sorting? Could the pre-test predispose people for certain houses? He'd have to rig some of the tests to give the least likely house then, see if it makes a difference.

Tony's mind whirls with possibilities and plans until he hears the strict-lady-in-green call out "Potts, Virginia!" P is close enough to S that he should probably start paying more attention, besides, he wants to know where Pepper ends up. The Hat sits quietly for a few seconds and then announces, "SLYTHERIN."

Pepper smiles, replaces the hat neatly on the stool, and goes to sit next to another first year with dark red curls at the green banner table. The next couple students go to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. A blond boy ("Rogers, Stephen") says, "Here, Professor" as he goes up to the front of the room. He smiles at everyone and walks so upright that Tony's back aches just watching him. The Hat barely even touches his head before it yells out, "GRYFFINDOR." Everyone at the table the blond joins looks like a bunch of do-gooders. At that moment Tony decides, no matter what, he is not going into Gryffindor, which only leaves the yellow house.

Tony considers the table beneath the yellow banner. They all look friendly enough, maybe not the brightest bunch, but Tony knows how important "hardworking" can be. He thinks of long nights up in his room hacking together his own programming language (he could so create something better than C with Classes), of the plans he'd drawn up for the robot he'd planned on building before the stupid letter with green ink had arrived with his name on it. Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad.

"Stark, Tony."

Some students start murmuring as he goes up to the stool with the hat_. Stark? You don't think- I think it is, don't you recognize him from the telly? _Tony flashes a media-worthy grin at the room and jauntily dons the Hat.

"You'd fit well in Ravenclaw," he hears the Hat say.

"Don't like blue," Tony mentally replies, wondering how exactly the mental link was working.

"I can't Sort you on color preference," the Hat says. Tony can feel it tremble on his head a little in laughter. "You like to ask questions and find answers-"

"-and then _do_ something with those answers. Besides, I'm only here until my father sees sense and lets me go attend a proper school. I want a house where I can have fun, where-" he does not finish the sentence; too many words swell up into the gap at once. _Where I can have friends, real friends, where I can work on something for hours without someone asking me why I'm wasting my time, where people care about what you do more than who you are, where I'm not alone._

The Hat loudly replies, "HUFFLEPUFF."


	2. Hogwarts' Mightiest Firsties

**A/N:** Many thanks to HopefulNebula for the beta and Cinaed for the encouragement. This series of vignettes is set during their first year at Hogwarts, 1982-1983.

**Potions**

Clint pressed his palms over his face. He was going to_ kill _Stark. The cauldron that had formerly been their potion was still sparking. He felt a warm glob land on the back of his hand and roll down his wrist.

"20 points from Hufflepuff." Professor Snape said, stopping in front of their table. "Potions is a delicate art, Mr. Stark, requiring precision and care. As you are currently incapable of either, you will join me for detention this evening to practice. Mr. Barton, since you did nothing to prevent this travesty, you may join him. Now, clean this up."

Detention. Again. _Murder _Stark. Clint gathered up their knives, cutting board, and other supplies, leaving the cauldron for Stark to handle.

"A travesty, maybe," Stark said, as he scraped out the remains of the potion into the dangerous waste box, "but an amazing one, right? Did you see how the potion turned into liquid light before the weight made it all start popping?"

"I don't like detention, Stark," Clint said. This was his sixth in his two-and-a-half weeks ordeal as Tony Stark's Potions Partner. Sixth detention and-judging by how Stark just popped his finger through the side of the cauldron-second cauldron. Stark wiggled his finger around and looked up at Clint as if this were an accomplishment. Clint dumped their rinsed supplies in a towel and carried them back to their table without another word.

Bill Weasley caught Clint's eye as he returned to his seat and gave a sympathetic smile. Bill had been Stark's first partner in class. The professor kept switching them around, seemingly as desperate as they were to make the explosions and such stop. Clint was his third partner. If the pattern held, he only had to last the rest of the week.

After class, Clint met up with Bill in the hall. "You all right?" Bill asked. "You've got something in your hair."

"Bloody potion. Stupid Stark."

Bill laughed. "He's probably the worst partner possible in this class, but if you think he's bad, you need to meet my younger brothers."

"Evil, are they? Because at this point, I'm only putting 'evil' as worse than Stark."

"Go on, you need to get cleaned up." Bill nodded toward the staircase leading up to their tower. "I'll let Flitwick know why you're late."

"Great," Clint grumbled. "Now I'm going to be late for my favorite class."

"I thought that was Flying?" Bill asked as he started in the other direction.

"_Academic_ class," Clint shot back. Detention, he thought as he trudged up the stairs. At least he hadn't also lost any points this time.

* * *

**Moon**

The stone room beneath Ravenclaw tower was approximately six meters by six meters. An alcove set into one wall held a shelf for a change of clothes and a small writing desk with some parchment and books. At sunset, the alcove, like the door to the room, would close seamlessly against the stone walls. The floor and walls were stone, but had some bounce in them, like hard rubber. Tapestries covered the walls and a false skylight let in the illusion of daylight. After his first full moon at Hogwarts, only three days into the year, Bruce had been horrified to wake up surrounded by the tattered remains of those tapestries. Professor Flitwick, however, had simply twitched his wand at them, returning them whole to the walls.

"You're not the first werewolf to attend Hogwarts," he had explained. "We've learned from his experiences."

The first werewolf, Bruce had learned, was a man named Remus Lupin. He'd been a prefect and had finished with several, impressive N.E.W.T.S. Bruce had written him immediately. Though he knew other werewolves existed, he'd never met one before. He had so many questions he wanted to ask.

Remus had yet to reply, however.

"Don't be too discouraged," Professor Flitwick had told him after the first fortnight with no response had crept past. "The war was especially difficult on Mr. Lupin. He might not be ready for owls, just yet."

Bruce had already gone years without answers; he could stand waiting longer, but having the answers _in reach_made him impatient. He stared down at the half-written letter-the third he would send-when he felt the tightness growing in his shoulders and hips. Bruce returned the quill to its inkpot-the shuddering of his limbs sent splatters of ink over the desk-and stepped out of the alcove. The walls slid shut over the space just as the first scream took him.

The night passed in a haze of bloody steaks and shredded tapestries. He woke in a nest of cloth, his mouth still bloody. He wasn't covered in as many scratches as he was used to, though. The food each night helped satisfy his blood lust, while the wall hangings gave him something to destroy. Bruce wiped his face on the cloth around him and retrieved his clothing from the alcove. He was signing his latest letter to Lupin when Flitwick returned to open the outer door.

Later that day, Bruce took his letter up to the Owlery. "Make sure he reads it this time, please," he said to one of the school owls as he secured the parchment. The owl hooted and took off. Bruce watched the owl fly away and hoped that, this time, Remus would write back.

Two days later, at breakfast, the owl returned. The letter read:

_Mr. Banner,_

_I apologize for not writing sooner. Yes, I was a werewolf at Hogwarts. My first few years I changed in a dungeon room. After that, I changed in the Shrieking Shack and the Forbidden Forest. During those changes I was always supervised. My best friends and my worst enemy are the only ones who figured out my secret. I have learned that many people in the world are too self-absorbed to notice what is happening around them. If your friends do find out, I suggest you trust them. Despite all the stories and fear surrounding our kind, people may still surprise you._

_As for any advice I have-if you're like me, you are probably extra hungry around the full moon. Beneath the Great Hall, on your way to the Hufflepuff rooms, if you know where those are, there is a painting of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear and it will turn into door to the kitchens. Just tell the House Elves that Lupin sent you._

_I hope I will hear from you again. Let me know how your first year is going._

_Your friend,_

_Remus Lupin _

The last two sentences warmed Bruce. He'd written home his first week at school, but his mother had written back saying that, while she was very happy to hear from him, it might be better if he just waited until his Christmas holiday to tell her everything. Bruce carefully folded the letter away and pushed his breakfast aside so he could write a reply.

"Want to share my ink?" Jane Foster asked. She was sitting across and a few seats down from him. Her wand was stabbed haphazardly through her hair and she had ink brushed along her cheek where she'd got the wrong end of her quill wet. Bruce was surprised she'd noticed he was going to need ink.

"Sure," he said, letting his ink pot fall back into his bag.

Jane moved down so she was sitting across from him and set the ink on the table between them. "I'm writing a letter, too," she said. She blushed. "My friend back home is threatening me with Howlers if I don't start sharing juicy stories about my friends." She looked down at her parchment. Jane, like him, was a bit of a loner. He tended to avoid close relationships because of his condition-he'd seen what it had done to his parents; he didn't want to cause that to anyone else. Jane, on the hand, just seemed to live half inside her head. He'd seen her muttering to herself in the library, the full table covered with books and notes, for hours, even skipping meals. Bruce thought of the letter he'd just read. Remus had told him to trust his friends, but, like Jane, first he needed some.

"Do you like chess?" he asked.

Jane looked up, smiling uncertainly. "I've not played in a while. Darcy, my friend, prefers card games."

"I like cards. Want to play a game this evening?"

Jane's smile strengthened. "I think I'd prefer chess."

Bruce smiled back. "Chess it is." He dipped his quill and started his letter.

* * *

**Beam**

Natasha stared at the rather fat lady in ridiculous pink ruffles who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. The woman refused to meet her gaze. "No password, no entrance. Especially for a Slytherin."

"I don't want in," Natasha repeated, affecting a bored voice. "I just want to let Clint Barton know I am here."

"I'm not an owl."

"Then I'll wait." Natasha leaned back on the stone wall opposite. Though she kept staring, she let her gaze relax and her mind wander. She and Clint always spent their Saturday afternoon together, but he hadn't shown up outside the Great Hall where they usually met, forcing her to seek him out. Another minute passed.

The portrait swung open and Steve Rogers stepped out. He was carrying a satchel and a large sketch book. He froze when he saw Natasha staring at him. "Can you please inform Clint that I am here and he is late?"

Steve's brow furrowed. "Clint isn't here. He and Bill went out to watch the Quidditch trials."

"Is that so."

Steve shifted his weight nervously. "I'm going out to draw. Would you like to come with?"

Natasha cocked her head. Steve was a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor. Clint never had anything bad to say about him, but that didn't mean much. "Don't tell Clint I was here," she said to Steve as she pushed off the wall and went to the stairs. Steve caught up with her, jumping just as her staircase started to move. He opened his sketchbook.

Despite herself, Natasha looked. He'd drawn the Forbidden Forest. The tree bark looked rough to touch. A long flower with pale blue petals seemed to sway in the wind. He turned to another page showing a flurry of leaves dancing. She could mimic those leaves-the music and movement rippled through her. "All right," she said. "Show me where you drew these."

Steve grinned. He led her out of the castle, away from the Pitch, and toward an area between the Whomping Willow and the gamekeeper's cottage. Then he surprised her by going beyond the edge of the forest to a small clearing not far in, still in view of the castle, but still out-of-bounds regardless. "I thought you didn't break the rules."

He shrugged. "Some rules make more sense than others." He sat on a towel he'd lay on the moist ground and leaned back against a tree trunk.

"How Slytherin of you."

He laughed. "I thought rule-breaking was a Gryffindor trait."

"Your reasoning is not." Natasha surveyed the clearing while Steve started sketching. She could hear Steve's pencil, the leaves shuffling against one another in the wind, animal calls that Clint likely could have identified. The long flower she'd seen in Steve's sketchbook still stood, though a petal was missing. A tree he'd drawn now lay across one edge of the clearing. The tree was slim and young with few branches and not yet given to rot. Natasha tested her weight on the trunk and smile, delighted, when it held. She practiced walking, getting used to the bounce of the wood. Then she jumped. When the trunk neither shifted nor broke, she turned a cartwheel, landing perfectly.

"You know," Steve said some time later, startling her. She'd nearly forgotten he was there. "I bet Hagrid has some spare wood. We could probably build you a proper beam."

Natasha hopped off the trunk. "Explain."

Steve turned to another page in his sketch book and quickly drew something. He held the book up for her to see. It was a long, narrow strip of wood held up on either end by more wood. "Gymnasts in the Muggle world use them, when they do what you were doing."

Muggles did that? Natasha thought, nonplussed. No wonder her parents were against her practicing her acrobatics where they could see. She should probably stop, but in all the blurry memories of her childhood, this was the one thing that felt completely true and right. "How do we build it?"

"We ask Hagrid," Steve said. While he packed his pencils away, Natasha swiped his sketchbook. On the page before the beam was her. He'd made her hair glow like flames. She was smiling as though the world were perfect, as if she weren't in a forest with a Mudblood, stood up by her best friend. Behind her shoulders he had started to sketch in butterfly wings. "Hey," Steve said, tugging the sketchbook back, his cheeks slightly pink. "That's not finished."

"I want it when you're done," Natasha said, releasing the book.

The pink in his cheeks darkened. "Yeah, all right. Come on. Let's go see Hagrid." He walked out of the forest and toward the gamekeeper's cottage. Natasha followed, amused and wanting her beam.

The beam was built within a week. Natasha tested the polished wood the following Saturday, not caring if Clint showed up for the day or not. Steve helped her carry the beam into the clearing where he sketched. Natasha returned every week until the snow covered the low beam from sight. Sometimes Steve was there, sketching. Sometimes he was not. They never talked much. Natasha liked that he could appreciate silence and decided that he was one of the exceptions to her parents' rules regarding blood status.

She asked a few times about her sketch, but Steve always said he wasn't ready yet. Then, on the Friday before their holiday, he walked up to the Slytherin table, shoved a package into her hands, and then left the Great Hall before she could stop him or say a word.

"What was that?" Virginia asked.

Natasha shook her head and opened the package. Inside was a framed painted version of her sketch. Natasha felt beautiful and inadequate just looking at it. An upper year tore the frame from her hands. "What's this? Lil' Tasha the butterfly princess?"

"Give it back," Natasha said, standing on her seat.

"Why should I?" the older student asked.

"Because I am a Romanov," Natasha said in her lowest, scariest voice. "I learned to brew my first poison when I was six."

"So?"

"So, girls are allowed into the boys' dormitories and I know where you sleep. Now give me back my painting."

The older student squinted at her, then smiled. "Not bad." He released the painting and patted her on the head. Natasha glared. "Just want to make sure you firsties are up to snuff." Natasha continued glaring until he'd returned to his seat down the table. She sat back down.

Virginia looked amused. "Did you really learn to brew poisons at six?"

Natasha shook her head. "That's what they think of my family though."

"Clever."

Natasha smiled. "Want to see my painting?" she asked.

Virginia carefully wiped her hands and then held them out to her. "Sure." Her brows raised slightly. "This is gorgeous." Natasha preened. "Steve Rogers did this? I thought you didn't like Muggleborns."

Natasha shrugged and took back her painting. She smoothed her hands over the frame, admiring again the choice of colors and the life in the lines. "He is an exception," she said.

"Fair enough." The conversation then turned toward the upcoming holiday and their plans. Natasha did not take the painting home-she was certain her parents would not understand either the source of the gift or her actions within it-but she did hang it in her dorm room at Hogwarts for the rest of the year.

* * *

**Stars**

Most nights Jane felt restless. At home she would have climbed onto the roof and looked for constellations, planets, and the like until her mind calmed enough for her to sleep. At Hogwarts, however, only the Astronomy Tower had open access to sky. Unfortunately, the older students seemed to think that such a view was romantic. She'd tried going to the tower seven times over the first few months of school. Each time she'd stumbled onto a different kissing couple. She didn't have the patience to try again. So, instead, she spent hours reviewing old star charts and only falling asleep when sheer exhaustion allowed nothing else. When the holiday came, Jane spent nearly every night on the roof, huddled under a charmed blanket and grateful for the clear view of the sky.

A solution to her problem presented itself at dinner about a week into the new term. She was lingering over dinner, not wanting to return to the tower while Bruce wasn't there. He was sick again and quarantined in the Hospital Wing so that she couldn't even visit. Something about his illnesses bothered Jane like an unsolved puzzle, though she wasn't sure why.

"Hey, where's Bruce?" Jane blinked out of her thoughts and looked up at the Hufflepuff boy standing across the table from her.

"Tony?" she hazarded, remembering some of Bruce's complaints and stories about the boy.

Tony grinned. "Yeah. Tony Stark at your service. Now, Bruce, is he around?"

"He's ill. Why?"

Tony shook his head. "Just something I wanted to figure out. Thought about it when I'd first arrived, but forgot about it once classes started up. Thought he could help."

Something to 'figure out' was an even better excuse than continuing to pick at her food. Jane pushed her plate aside. "I'm a Ravenclaw, too. Maybe I can help. Bruce can join in when he feels better."

Tony gave her a long look, then sat down in the seat across from her. He learned forward on one elbow and jabbed another hand toward the ceiling. "So how accurate do you think that thing is?"

Jane's breath caught in her throat. In all her longing for a starry sky, she'd never even _considered_the Great Hall. "I have star charts," she said, quickly. "We could compare them. Meet down here tonight?"

Tony's face widened in a grin. "Sounds like a plan. Meet here around midnight?"

Jane nodded, already mentally cataloging what she was going to need. "It may not be our sky."

"Even more fun," Tony said, shrugging. "We can figure out whose it is. I wonder how they set it." He looked up at the ceiling.

Jane's eyes widened. "We could set it for different places. Study skies far off from here. America even. Or Japan. We just have to know how they did it."

Tony and Jane looked at one another. Jane hadn't felt this excited since she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter. "Meet in the library tomorrow?"

"Hogwarts history or charms?"

"History. Could also be runes. Bruce is going to love this. What if they'd incorporated a potion somehow?"

"How?" Tony asked skeptically.

Jane laughed. "I have no idea. Let's find out."

"Let's. But first, tonight."

"Midnight," Jane agreed, standing up. "I'll meet you here." She was already halfway to her dorms before she realized that she probably should have been more polite when she'd left. Oh well, she thought, she'd see him later; she could be polite then. She tripped up the stairs to her room, still smiling and imagining everything she could do with a perfectly accurate planetarium.

They got caught. Jane wasn't sure if it was the smell of Tony's food or the noise of her dropped charts that had brought Mrs. Norris their way, but find them she did. Filch dragged them to his office, wrote up their violations, and then escorted each of them to their dorms. The next morning, Professors Flitwick and Sprout called the two of them together during lunch. Their actions were entirely out-of-line, bad for their health, and dangerous. Jane glanced over to Tony and noticed that he looked bored. The professors' recriminations did bother Jane, but they didn't realize what she and Tony had been trying to accomplish. "Thirty points each for being out of bed and detention all this week. Since you were sneaking down to the Great Hall, you can spend your evenings cleaning it," Professor Sprout said.

Jane winced. She hadn't lost that many points at once yet and she knew her housemates would not be pleased. After being dismissed, Jane followed Tony out of the room. She could hear the professors still talking about them in hushed tones. "_Merlin_, they're only first years." and "They start younger every year." Her cheeks burned with the implications.

"They think we're-"

"Yeah." Tony scratched at his neck, stopping outside the Great Hall. "So what now? Do we try again?"

"Of course! We just need to be-"she struggled for a word "-_sneakier_." She bit her lip, wishing Darcy were around to help.

"Sneaky?" Tony repeated, glancing at the door to the Great Hall. Then, with a grin, he burst through. Most of the students were still eating or using the table space to study. Tony walked over to the Slytherin table. Jane chased behind him. "Pepper!" he called out. "Lend me your beautiful, Slytherin brain."

A girl with red-blond hair palmed her face. "My name is _not _Pepper," she said.

"Sure it is," Tony said, dropping in the seat beside her. "So, Pepper, we need your help."

Pepper sighed. "What now, Tony?" she asked, looking up at them.

Tony glanced back at Jane. "Jane? Care to explain." Jane ran through the previous night's events and their goals with the ceiling. She didn't mention the idea of changing where the sky projected, instead focusing on just the question of accuracy.

"Talk to Sinistra," Pepper said, turning back to her books.

"But she hates me," Tony protested.

Pepper rubbed at her temples as though she had a headache. "You wore pajamas to our Astronomy class and asked if we could tell ghost stories."

"Children our age shouldn't be out that late."

Pepper took a deep breath and looked up, past Tony, to Jane. "Your objective is academic. If you talk with Professor Sinistra, you may get her to approve it as a special project for class. That will get you the access to the hall you want, with the possible added bonus extra grade points. Don't let Tony do the talking."

Jane nodded. "Thanks, Pepper," she said.

"My name is not-" Pepper stopped and sighed. "You're welcome. Now get, both of you, I'm trying to study."

Jane grabbed Tony's shoulder, tugging him back toward the doors. "Let's go see Professor Sinistra." Jane talked with her favorite professor while Tony waited in the hallway. Professor Sinistra agreed with the project and wrote a pass for Jane, Tony, and Bruce to study the Great Hall sky at night. She said she was pleased they were taking initiative. Jane thanked her and met with Tony back in the hall.

"Did you get it?" he asked.

She held up the pass. "For next Saturday evening. She said she didn't want to interfere with our detentions."

"Fantastic. We should go tell Bruce."

Jane nodded in agreement. "I think he's still with Pomfrey."

Madame Pomfrey let them in, reminding them that Bruce was still feeling weak and they shouldn't excite him too much. Too bad Madame Pomfrey didn't realize that their showing up together was excitement enough. Bruce leaned up as they entered his area of the wing, took one look at them, and fell back onto his pillow.

"You've teamed up," he said, starting to laugh. "God help us all."

* * *

**Pepper**

Virginia did not know how Tony had accomplished it, but she wanted to throttle him. She had tolerated being called _Vergie _for much of childhood with the expectation that once she entered Hogwarts, she could leave all nicknames behind and simply be Virginia. Then, however, she had had the great misfortune of sharing a train compartment with Tony Stark. Within minutes he was calling her "Pepper," and now the name had spread. She'd started keeping a tally after Easter, since that was the first she'd noticed someone outside of Tony's small group of friends use the name. In one day, approximately half of the people she talked with had called her "Pepper" instead of "Virginia." Even her fellow Slytherins used the name.

"You might as well give up," Natasha said one night as they were getting ready for bed. She was stretching and Virginia was reviewing Charms work. Natasha spoke quietly as Mimi, the other girl in their year, was already asleep.

"On what?" Virginia asked, setting her book on her night table and reaching upward until her shoulders popped.

"I saw your Pepper tally sheet. Stark convinced his housemates to use the name. I heard he told them that it would make you feel more included in the school culture."

"Did he say why I required such inclusion?" Virginia asked, shoving her blankets down with a particularly vicious kick.

"I don't know, but some of the upper years have noticed that it bothers you. They've been advising their firsties to use the name. I know Connors told Weyland to."

Virginia pulled her blankets up over legs. "Lovely. So I should just claim the name then. Give in to Tony."

Natasha shrugged and then slipped soundlessly into her own bed. "I do not know. I only know that your irritation is giving some ideas."

Virginia sighed and thought about being known as 'Pepper Potts' for seven years. Perhaps if she accepted the name, fewer would use it. This did not strike her as very likely, however. "Stupid Stark," she muttered. She flicked her wand at her canopy, causing it to fall and enveloping her in darkness.

"Indeed," she heard Natasha agree. Then her canopy quietly closed as well. Virginia stared up in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting while she considered whether the battle over her name was worth it. All nicknames eventually passed and she had more important things to worry over. Sighing again, Pepper closed her eyes and fell asleep.


	3. Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

**A/N: **Three things-

First, the last section of this chapter does have some implied domestic and child abuse in Bruce's family. The last section is also in present tense. While I will normally keep each story in this series one or the other, I could not get this ficlet to work in past tense. Apologies.

Second, The Mackinaw Academy of Wizarding Arts or "Mac" is personal fanon and one of the major wizarding schools in America. I have spent too much time creating this school not to use it.

Third, there is a one-line stealth crossover in one of the ficlets below. First person to spot it can request and get a ficlet (300-1000k) in this universe.

* * *

**Steve & Natasha**

Steve had been raised to give a helping hand when and where he could. So when his grandparents dropped him off at the Platform early, he did not hole up in a compartment and wait, but instead greeted any new faces and offered to help with storing trunks.

When Bill arrived with his father, he noticed Steve helping another student lift their trunk and laughed. "Need any help?" he asked, jogging up to Steve and leaving his own trunk by his father.

"Please," Steve said. "I think someone packed some extra books."

The little boy-Steve knew there was only a year difference, but he couldn't help himself-paled. "That's all right, isn't it? I just saw so many and-"

"It's fine," Bill reassured as he took over the other side of the trunk. "On three?"

Steve nodded. "One, two-"

"Three." The trunk slid neatly into place. Bill clapped his hands along each other and directed the kid toward the sweets trolley. "I take it this isn't the first trunk you've helped with?"

Steve shrugged. "I got here early."

Bill nodded and jerked his head back toward the platform. "Well, let me get stowed and tell my dad 'bye,' then I'll join you on trunk duty."

"I'll wait here," Steve said. He leaned back against the wall of the train corridor, making certain to stay out of everyone else's way. While waiting for Bill, he noticed another red head he knew. "Natasha," he said, smiling and raising a hand toward her.

Natasha turned and looked at him blankly. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then she said, "Rogers," and kept on moving. Steve frowned, hurt. He started to go after her, to see if anything was wrong, when Bill returned with a short girl who looked several years too young for Hogwarts. Steve gave one more glance toward where Natasha had gone and then turned back to help Bill and the girl.

Steve did not think of Natasha's odd behavior on the train again until it was a month into the school year and he realized that he had not once seen her practicing on her beam. Rather than approach her, he drew a quick sketch of the clearing and wrote 'Did you forget about me?' in a speech bubble extending from balance beam. He borrowed Clint's owl to send the sketch before he could second-guess himself.

A week later, Natasha returned. "Rogers," she started, paused, and then said instead, "Steve." She stopped again, her gaze darted around the clearing behind him, not once meeting his eyes.

"Did you figure out anything new?" he asked, inclining his head toward the beam. Natasha stilled, her shoulders lowered a fraction.

"I think so," she said. Then she went to her beam; and, Steve returned to his sketchbook. He watched her over the edge of his book, concerned when she fell doing a simple cartwheel. Then, however, it was like she remembered herself. Steve remembered one of the dances held at the nursing home he'd volunteered at over the summer. At the start of the evening, people had moved stiffly, but by the end, they'd flowed. A woman in a polka-dotted dress had taught Steve the jitterbug and told him, "Dance enough and it won't matter that your brain can't remember the steps. Your muscles will never forget."

Natasha leaned backward, catching the beam in her hands, and flowed back onto her feet. Then she turned and reached back again, this time jumping. She flipped back, pushed off the beam, and popped back to her feet. Steve clapped lightly. Natasha looked back at him over her shoulder, an uncertain smile pulling at her lips. "I thought you were drawing."

"I can watch and draw at the same time."

Her lips twitched. "Eyes on your paper, Mr. Rogers."

Steve grinned. "But Professor Romanov," he whined, recalling how one boy back on the Platform had tugged at his parents for more money and treats.

Natasha laughed-short, unexpectedly, and beautiful. "I would never teach," she said before turning and flipping again.

Steve shrugged and returned to his drawing. The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. On the way back to the castle later that afternoon, Natasha swiped his sketchbook as she had always done the year before. Steve thought that, maybe, things were finally getting back to normal.

* * *

**Jane**

Jane, unable to sleep again, snuck out of her dorm and down to the Great Hall. She'd learned her lesson from the previous year and brought nothing with her other than some catnip in case Mrs. Norris wandered in. She and Tony never did figure out how to change the projected sky. She'd got ensnared by the concept of magic mirrors for long-distance communications and seeing. Tony had—she'd lost track of everything Tony had researched or tried out. She mused sometimes that the only reason Tony hadn't gone into Ravenclaw was his lack of focus.

Jane stretched out on the Slytherin table, pillowed her head on her hands, and watched the sky above. The projection was of the sky somewhere near Glastonbury. Bruce thought it might actually be the sky over Avalon—if Avalon existed. Jane smiled, remembering their short research party into that particular question—quickly followed by the long-lasting debate over which Arthurian myths were based on fact and which were not.

Summer had been surprising. She had not realized how much she would miss Bruce, or even Tony.

"I don't suppose you have permission for being here?"

Jane jumped at the amused, low-pitched voice. She sat up to find a woman in dove grey robes watching her. "Um, I did a project last year and—" Jane bit her lip. Lying was not her forte. Oddly, of her friends, Bruce was the best at spinning a quick and believable story. Tony tried to charm people. Darcy just told the blunt truth and somehow made that work for her.

The woman smiled. "Star-gazing?"

"I couldn't sleep."

The woman nodded as though this was a perfectly acceptable reason for being out of bed and bounds after hours and joined Jane on the table. "It is soothing, I suppose. An utter menace to maintain, of course. But isn't that magic for you?" She shot Jane another smile as soothing as chamomile tea. "Always hiding the work."

"Maintain?" Jane asked, excitement swelling.

The woman reached one hand over for Jane to shake, saying, "Professor Babel, Ancient Runes. One of the trade-offs for not getting saddled with Head of House duties was ceiling maintenance. Want to help?"

"Help?" Jane echoed, her voice squeaking. "Yes, please. How? Is it Runes? Are there mirrors involved? What about a Griffin equation? My friends and I thought maybe—"

Professor Babel laughed. "Why don't I show you?" She pushed off the table and walked to the empty space between the students' eating area and the Head Table. "Come on." Jane joined her. "You were close in your guess about the mirrors in that the sky above is a reflection of another sky elsewhere." While she explained, Professor Babel drew a large circle around them with chalk. "The connection has to be renewed at both locations every quarter. The connection is not based on Griffin, however. You'll have to talk with Professor Vector to get a better explanation of the mathematics that go into the spell. His calculations are what tell me where to redraw the Runes each quarter."

"Do you always draw the same ones?" Jane asked as Professor Babel wrote a glowing symbol in the air at one point along the circumference of the circle.

"No. The location can affect the power of the runes, so once I know where to draw them, I have to decide which will be the most potent. That's why some terms we get very active skies with lots of movement and storms, while in other terms the sky seems almost painted on."

"Will we learn how to do this?" Jane asked.

"If you're in my NEWT class, yes. First, though, you have to learn how to read the runes. Would you like to draw the last one?"

Jane's eyes widened. "I don't know the spell or the rune. I don't want to make a mistake."

"What year are you?"

"Second."

Professor Babel nodded again. "In that case, just place your hand over mine. I want you to visualize a good thunderstorm. Blinding lightening. Thunder so pervasive you can't distinguish it from your heart beat. Rain that soaks you through in only a second. Can you do that?"

Jane bit her lip. "Yes."

"Good." Professor Babel held out her wand, and Jane placed her hand over hers. "Close your eyes and think about the thunderstorm." Jane did. The professor drew her wand down in a sharp slash and then raised her hand again, zagging down and out and then back in, forming a sideways V. Her hand lowered. "You can open your eyes now."

The rune blazed blue-white in the air. When Jane turned away, she could still see it watermarked on her sight. "What now?" she asked.

"Now," Professor Babel replied, "I finish the spell." She walked back to the center of the circle, punched her wand high into the air and called out a spell that Jane could not quite catch. The runes spun around them, blurring into a ring of light. The ring rose and tightened until a still-spinning orb hovered over Professor Babel's wand. The orb grew smaller and brighter until Jane could no longer look at it without her eyes hurting.

_"Caeli contine!"_

The orb shot into the ceiling, exploding in a meteor shower across the projected night sky.

"That was amazing," Jane said.

Professor Babel laughed, suddenly sounding very tired. "Come on, I'll escort you back to bed." Jane followed the professor up to the Ravenclaw entrance. She couldn't wait to tell Bruce about her adventure over breakfast the next morning.

* * *

**Pepper & Natasha**

The hazard of partnering with Tony Stark in Potions is that he is a disaster. While Natasha flipped quietly through some book she'd insisted was more important than spending their afternoon break outside, Pepper mentally reviewed the worst stories she'd heard from first year—all of the exploding, melting, and rusting cauldrons, the weird gases, the goop spreading over the cauldron edge and across the desk. One of his partners in first year had received 8 nights of detention in two weeks. Another had gone to the Hospital Wing twice in one week thanks to Stark.

For the past month or so, however, none of that occurred. No one got sick or sentenced detention. The potion did not congeal or boil over or explode or destroy the cauldron. Nothing happened, except what was supposed to happen.

"I don't understand."

"He listens to you," Natasha replied, not looking up from her book.

"No, he doesn't. I think the fact that I am now answering to a _spice_ rather than my actual name is proof of that."

"Today, when he started to add the acrimonium too early, you frowned and he stopped." A sly smile crossed over Natasha's face and she glanced up at Pepper. "Snape is never going to let you work with anyone else."

Pepper winced; she'd already suspected that when Professor Snape had broken his first year pattern and didn't switch the partners out after three weeks. "It's just a year, right? I can handle one year of Tony Stark." Natasha snorted and returned to her book. Pepper sighed. "Maybe if I talk with Professor Snape—" she trailed off, unable to think of anything that would outweigh Stark's typical potions behavior. If only she could ensure Stark started exploding cauldrons again—even if it did mean detention. A plan started unfurling in her mind, she leaned over the table, planting her chin in one palm. She wanted a distraction while the idea germinated. "What are you reading anyway?"

Natasha lifted the book, showing the spine. "Memory charms. A side project."

"Turning Ravenclaw on me?" Pepper teased.

Natasha smirked. "What are your plans for Stark?"

Pepper lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Make myself a less competent lab partner, I suppose. I'm considering my options."

"Do you remember the Big Stink from last year?" Natasha asked. Pepper wrinkled her nose at the memory. "Professor Snape smelled like troll dung for a week, as did everyone else in the class. At least you can control Stark."

"So I should sacrifice my sanity for the well-being of the class?" Pepper asked, skeptically.

"No," Natasha replied, rolling her gaze back up to Pepper. "We're not _Gryffindors_. I just think it is better to control a situation than be victim to it."

Pepper pursed her lips. "Perhaps." She raised her chin toward Natasha, indicating her book. "So, is that project anything I can help you with?"

Natasha shook her head and closed the book. "It's nothing. Care to go outside?" she asked, already standing.

"Might as well." Pepper followed her out of the library. Natasha did not mention her side project again, and Pepper did not ask.

When their next Potions class began two days later, Pepper took the seat beside Stark without protest. Stark beamed at her and she smiled back. She'd survived a month; she could handle a year.

* * *

**Clint**

Clint figured every family had the thing they didn't talk about. Bill got shifty when he mentioned his uncle. Natasha pretended she'd spent her entire life next door, rather than just her life from about age five. Clint had his brother.

Barney had loved Muggle Studies, always telling Clint stories about Muggle inventions and weaponry. They'd started learning how to use a bow together. Barney insisted that Clint needed a way to defend himself if the war ever got worse. When their parents were gone, which was often, Barney and Clint would practice for hours together. "Always get the high ground," Barney had advised him once, showing Clint how to get up onto the roof of their house. They'd then shot arrows at paper targets lying on the grass below. And, even though their parents had sent him to the Mackinaw Academy of Wizarding Arts in America, Barney wrote Clint every month.

Then the letters stopped.

And his brother never returned home.

Clint pulled back the string of his bow back until the arrow fletching brushed his cheek. He breathed and released. The arrow flew true; hitting the tree he'd been aiming at, but landing a few centimeters shy of the knot he'd been using as a bull's eye. The shot was good, but he wanted better. He wanted to be perfect when he saw his brother again.

As Clint retrieved his arrow, he noticed a familiar flash of red a bit deeper in the forest. Quietly, he crept in further. Natasha was there, doing flips on a narrow bit of wood elevated off the ground. Drawing closer, he noticed Steve Rogers with his sketchbook on the other side of the clearing. Clint stopped.

Natasha had improved since the last time he'd seen her acrobatics. He hadn't known she kept up her practice while at school. He especially hadn't known that she spent time with Steve. Clint quietly returned to where he'd been practicing his aim. He notched another arrow, but this one went wide of his target.

When was the last time he'd spent a day with Natasha? The last time they'd talked? Clint had the uncomfortable feeling that he had lost one of his best friends almost just as he'd predicted ages back before they'd even started Hogwarts.

_"We're going to be enemies, aren't we?"_

The next arrow also missed its target. Clint growled, frustrated. He packed his bow and arrows away and returned to the Gryffindor tower. Maybe he could convince Bill to run some on-the-ground Quidditch drills with him. He didn't think he was going to improve his aim that day.

* * *

**Bruce & Tony**

Bruce's life begins to fall apart his second year. Professor Flitwick calls him out of Potions to tell him that his mother is dead. He says 'dead;' Bruce knows he means 'killed.' This isn't the sort of thing a kid should expect, but he had. Of course he had. Bruce isn't sure he feels real anymore—all heavy and hollow like the ghost of a limb.

"Can I go to the funeral?" he asked. He can barely hear his own voice over the howling in his head.

Professor Flitwick's lips move soundlessly. _Of course._

Tony hovers when he hears. Bruce appreciates his silence.

Jane's mouth rolls inward, her brows pull downward. _Oh, Bruce._ He knows she can make sense of his silence, that she knows enough of his life. Her sudden, clinging hug, and then Tony's arm at his back fill all the spaces inside him with warmth—too much warmth. It tightens around his throat and presses at his eyes and then he is sobbing on the floor, his face against Jane's shoulder; Tony's hand running soothingly up and down his back.

His mother is dead. His mother is dead. His mother is dead.

Bruce thinks he can feel Jane's lips move against his ear, but still all he can hear is the howling.

The funeral is small and sad. Tony dresses up in a nice Muggle suit and goes with Bruce. Jane unhappily stays behind—her parents unwilling to let her also attend. People talk. Someone plays a song. Bruce stares at the coffin and remembers his mother.

After his mother is beneath the ground, his father lays a tight, heavy grip on Bruce's shoulders. The fingers digging in feel like claws, like the night when he'd learned that while magic is real, so are the monsters. The magic was the real surprise; he'd already known about monsters.

The train does not leave until morning.

Tony still isn't talking. "Why did you even come?" Bruce asks, quiet, blunt, and angry. He glances toward the front of the car to see if his father had heard.

"I know what it's like," Tony says. He is looking out the window. His reflection is a reflection of everything roiling inside of Bruce.

"Thanks."

When they reach the house, his father leaves the engine running, speeding off as soon as the car door is shut. Fear and dread coil like snakes in Bruce's stomach.

"We shouldn't stay here," he says.

Tony cocks his head and gives Bruce a long, assessing gaze. Jane has said something, he thinks. "We'll pack," he says. "Pack everything."

"I can't just—" Bruce isn't sure why he is protesting.

"I need to use your phone," Tony says, striding up to the front door. For a second he looks a lot older than twelve years old.

"Tony," Bruce says, following him up the walk. "He's my _dad_."

"Yeah," Tony says, stepping back so that Bruce can unlock the door. "I know."

Bruce takes a deep breath and enters the house. His mother is everywhere. "I can't leave," he whispers.

Tony doesn't reply. Bruce knows he is only recalculating, not giving in. Bruce packs away his favorite photos and mementos of his mother and shares the stories with Tony. He already misses her so much.

That night, when his father returns home, Tony is asleep. Terrified, Bruce climbs out of bed, steps gingerly over Tony, and goes downstairs. His mother is no longer there to protect him. He can't let his father touch his friend. The stair rail is all he has to keep from falling.

When he wakes up on the downstairs sofa, Tony is staring at him, his mouth in a straight, taut line. Bruce can feel that one eye is swollen, but otherwise the pain is no worse than after a full moon. "Had to escape your snoring," he says.

The line of Tony's mouth deepens. "I'm kidnapping you," Tony says. "I've already packed all of your things upstairs, which you should appreciate, because I don't pack. I've also called my father for transportation back to the train and for movers."

"And my father?" Bruce asks. He sits up and winces at the pain.

Tony shrugs. "He was asleep. I found a lock and some things in your garage. It won't keep him for long, but if he wakes up, we'll have some extra time."

"You locked up my father." Bruce can't stop the exasperated laugh from gurgling up. Everything is spinning in his head—his mother is dead, his father locked up, his eye throbbing—nothing makes sense.

Tony's lips flicker into a smile, but then fade back into seriousness. "You're not staying here anymore," he says.

"Yeah," Bruce says, too tired to argue, too tired for anything. "Okay."

When school ends, his father does not show up and Bruce goes home with Tony.

And that's just the way it is.

* * *

**PS:** If you want to beta for this series, please send me a message.


	4. Summer Discoveries, an Interlude

**A/N: **With thanks to spoke for the beta read, and cinaed for the read-over of 'A Secret.'

This chapter was initially supposed to be three double-drabbles, but then Bruce's section ballooned. Then, while I was looking for a beta, I added the three 'meanwhile' sections. I won't always write chapters for the summer, but sometimes things happen over the summer that have to be shown. So it goes.

You may notice that this chapter is not named after an Avengers issue. That is because this chapter is an interlude and does not play by normal rules.

**Summer Discoveries (an interlude)**

**A Secret**

Bruce eyed the growing moon through the curtain gap nervously. He'd been living with Tony for about two weeks so far and had yet to share the greatest of his secrets with his generous friend—a secret he could not much longer _not_ share. Though Bruce's friends were well accustomed to his frequent illnesses through the school year, he did not think he could use the same ruse when under one of their roofs. He'd already written to Remus on the matter and had received, in turn, an offer to spend the moon with him. Still, he needed some reason to give Tony. The truth would be best, especially considering the other full moon awaiting him in August.

He sighed and reluctantly left his room and walked down the hall to Tony's. Despite the late hour, he knew Tony was unlikely to be asleep. Sure enough, Tony was wide awake and sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by many sheets of marked up papers.

Bruce hovered by the door, uncertain how to begin. When Tony looked up at him, he coughed and asked, "What are you reading?"

"Just catching up on things I've missed." He held up one paper. "This paper is _two years old_ and this is the first I've seen it. I don't know how I missed it last summer. Listen to this, '_Our model obtains its emergent computational properties from simple properties of many cells rather than circuitry._' Then later, he says, '_The algorithm categorizes initial states according to the similarity of memory states.'_ One part can direct the formation of the whole—theoretically, the machine could learn. You don't have to encode everything at the outset. Still have to enforce how the learning occurs though, but—"

"You realize I have no idea what you're talking about," Bruce said. He crossed the room and picked up one stack of papers.

"Machine learning. Expert systems_. Artificial intelligence_," Tony said. "A machine that can think and learn. This guy and—" he reached over to another small collection of papers and waved it at Bruce "—this guy have the right of it, I think. Neurons that can recognize a pattern from a part and organize themselves. It's a start, at least." He blinked, as if just realizing that Bruce was standing at the foot of his bed. "Did you need something?"

"I have something I need to tell you." Bruce stopped, his mouth suddenly dry. "Can we meet with Jane first? This week. It has to be this week. Sooner is better."

The excitement in Tony's face cooled into concern. "Is everything—"

"Yeah." He forced a smile. "It's fine. I just have to go away soon—just for a couple days," he said in a rush, forestalling Tony's questions. "I should explain why."

"We can call Jane in the morning."

"Okay. Good." Bruce sat the papers he'd picked up back on Tony's bed and awkwardly left the room. Once in the hallway, he stopped against one wall. He had no idea what he was going to say.

Meeting with Jane actually took two days to arrange. Bruce supposed he should have spent the time preparing what he was going to say, but the time to think really did not help his nerves. While he waited, he watched _Star Wars_ with Tony and argued with him over which was a better portrayal of life in the distant future: _Star Wars _or _Star Trek_. At night he finally finished reading _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_, which Jane had lent him on the Express earlier that summer. He wrote her a long, rambling letter about the book, going far more in-depth than he ever had before. He finished late in the second day and dropped it downstairs to be mailed as he and Tony left to meet Jane for dinner.

The Ivy was a _lot _more upscale than Bruce was used to. Jane was waiting for them on the corner and was looking as uncomfortable in her neatly pressed dress and tights as Bruce felt in Tony's borrowed clothes. Her parents waited with her and made polite conversation with Tony's—Bruce wasn't sure what to call the man. He knew he wasn't Tony's father, but he was around far more often. Bruce caught Jane's eye while Tony led them all inside. Tony was _never_ making the arrangements for them again. Inside, Tony had arranged for two tables, Bruce saw gratefully. Jane's parents and Tony's man sat together at one table. Then, well out of earshot, though not out of sight, Tony, Bruce, and Jane sat together.

Tony didn't even last until the first course. "What is going _on_, Banner?" he asked.

Bruce looked at the set menu, thought mournfully of the meal he'd probably not get to eat, and sighed. "I'm a werewolf," he said.

Jane leaned in. "Bruce, we can't hear a word you just said."

"I'm a _werewolf,_" he said again, this time with more force and volume. Jane blanched, snapping back in her seat. Tony looked intrigued, as if he were reading one his science papers. Bruce looked down and fought the urge to cry. Crying was too easy these days. "I can just go—"

"Bruce!" Jane interrupted, her face pale. "The full moon is _next week!_ What are you going to do?"

Bruce looked up, torn between confusion and laughter—trust Jane to have the lunar calendar memorized. "You're not afraid?"

"You're my second best friend," Jane said, her tone adding a comforting '_why would I ever be afraid of you?' _to her words.

"The elusive Darcy still beats me out for the top place?" Bruce asked, smiling at the old joke.

Jane shrugged. "We grew up together."

"We go to Hogwarts together," Bruce countered. For a moment he was able to forget why they were at the restaurant.

"What did you do at Hogwarts?" Tony asked. "You had to spend all your illnesses somewhere."

Jane pressed her finger tips to her forehead, her eyes squeezing shut in chagrin. "_That's_ why they bothered me so much. I knew there was a pattern."

"I had a room," Bruce answered Tony. "Beneath the Tower."

"What did you do at home?" Jane asked, her voice soft.

"Basement. All that mattered was that I couldn't get out." A damp basement with concrete walls, a broken washing machine, and nothing to gnaw on but himself.

"So all you need is a room?" Tony asked. "I think we can do one better than that."

Bruce shook his head. "I have a place to go. I've written someone and he's already helped me with that. Besides, he's magic—"

"Magic," Tony repeated, disgusted. "The world does not run on magic. I bet, if you gave me time, I could—Jane, when's the next full moon?"

"Early August," Jane said, at the same time Bruce answered, "August 11th."

When Jane and Tony both gave him a look, he pointed at himself. "Were. Wolf," he said slowly. "Knowing the moon's phases is basically required."

Now it was Jane's turn to look speculative. "Do you have the calendar memorized, or can you feel the moon's changes?"

"Interrogate later," Tony said. "I want to more about wherever you're running off to next week."

Bruce smiled while Tony and Jane bickered over which questions were more important. The coiled tension within him eased. "You guys are my best friends," he burst out without meaning to. He could feel the blush warming his cheeks as Jane and Tony both looked at him. He felt like an idiot.

"Well, of course," Tony said.

"You're my second and third best friends, too," Jane said.

"Hey," Tony protested, "You can't even let us tie at second?"

Jane shrugged. "Bruce is in Ravenclaw with me. I've known him longer."

The argument of how best to rank friendships lasted well into their second course. Bruce forgot the ritzy surroundings, the borrowed clothes, and even the secret he'd just disclosed. He was with his friends and he had a point to win.

* * *

**Meanwhile-One**

Steve tagged along on the Barnes Family summer holiday just as he'd done since he'd been in diapers. The trip was, surprisingly, his first visit to the Isle of Wight. Bucky thought Carisbrooke Castle was impressive; Steve wished he could tell him about Hogwarts. Instead he drew pictures and pretended he'd dreamed it all up.

* * *

**A Lie**

Natasha stared at one of the photographs of her second birthday. In the picture, her mother smiled while Natasha clapped her hands and jumped. In the background were her table of presents and wood paneling of the den. The room was one of Natasha's favorites, for all her mother hated it.

Something about the photo was bothering her.

Then Natasha realized that her mother's shadow was in the wrong place. The difference was minor, but she had become better at noticing light and its effects since a few impassioned speeches from Steve. The longer she examined the photo, the more certain she was—her mother's figure had been coaxed into the frame and possibly spelled to remain there. Natasha turned to another page in the album. The light on her arms looked warmer than that on her father's.

Natasha threw the album aside, ignoring it as it bounced off the bed and fell to the floor. She was letting Steve's lectures contaminate her mind, making her see things. She was only seeing things.

That night her father remarked on how quiet she was being as they ate. Natasha smiled falsely. "Just thinking, Papa," she said, using her childhood name for him.

He returned the smile. "About what, poppet?"

"Just school," she replied, returning to her peas.

This is what she knew. Her parents, always a bit distant, but always interested in her dreams and ideas. So many people at school thought her family was wicked, but they never saw them like this—quietly eating dinner together and talking. They never saw when her mother taught her to first ride a broom, or when her father helped her make simple healing salves in his lab.

_Why had they altered the photographs?_

Natasha opened her mouth to ask them, but at the last moment instead asked, "Would it be possible for a friend to visit me?"

"_Which_ friend?" her mother asked. The sharpness jarred Natasha like the photos had.

"Virginia Potts," Natasha answered. "Pure blood, of course. Slytherin. I suspect she will be prefect when the time comes."

"Don't you want to be the prefect?" her father asked.

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Too much work. Besides, Pe—Virginia is my friend."

Her father chuckled. "Such a sly daughter we have."

"Send her an owl tomorrow afternoon," her mother said. "If her parents are amenable, she may visit."

"Thank you." Natasha once again returned to her meal. Her parents were as Slytherin as she; if they were hiding something from her, they would not tell her over dinner. She needed cunning.

An idea finally came to her a few hours later as she finished brushing her teeth before bed. The wide bowl of the sink reminded her of her parents' pensieve. She'd only seen it once after her grandfather had died. Everyone in the family had shared memories, collecting their favorites to use for his portrait. They'd told her they used the pensieve to save their favorite memories, just as most people relied entirely on photographs and diary entries.

She needed to see her parents' pensieve. If her questions had answers, they might just be there.

* * *

**Meanwhile-Two**

Pepper glanced side to side, ensuring no one else at Fortescue's was watching, and then made another face at the little kid two tables over. He giggled, but then slapped a hand over his mouth and straightened his features into a parody of sobriety. The streak of chocolate ice cream across his cheek undermined his solemnity.

"You entertain him," a cool, male voice said from behind her.

Pepper jumped and turned to face whoever had caught her. The man was tall, aristocratic, and icy blond like the little boy. Pepper recognized him immediately from her aunt's stories about him. He was powerful, but not well liked. "You must be his father."

"I am. You are?" Mr. Malfoy raised one brow in expectation.

"Virginia Potts, sir."

"Any relation to Cornelia Potts?"

"She is my aunt," Pepper confirmed. Then, in a bid to turn the questioning away from herself, she asked, "And, sir, you are?"

"Lucius Malfoy," he answered with an amused smile that let Pepper know he was not fooled. "I work with your aunt. Preparing for Hogwarts?" Lucius indicated the potions text she'd been reading before the child had distracted her.

"Yes, sir. Professor Snape prefers us fully prepared before our first class each year." She did not add how she had become accustomed to reading several chapters ahead in Potions just to keep up with Tony's capacity for disaster.

"Ravenclaw?" he asked leaning on his cane. The slight movement had the effect of seeming to tower over her.

"Slytherin, sir."

Lucius gave her a cold, thin smile. "Good to see the old house maintains its standards. Have a good afternoon, Miss Potts—and, please, tell your aunt I said 'hello.'"

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Have a good day." Pepper watched him quietly chastise his son for the mess, while still gently cleaning the ice cream from his hands and face. Feeling as if an intruder, Pepper returned to her potions text and tried to anticipate the sorts of questions with which Professor Snape would open the year.

* * *

**A Wand**

"Are all your customers this tough?" Darcy asked, giving the fifth wand she'd tried back to Ollivander.

The creepster blinked at her owlishly and said in a mysterious tone of voice, "Like calls to like, Miss Lewis. Try this one. Twelve inches, Aspen and dragon heartstring."

Darcy took the wand. The wood twisted in her hands and she dropped it hastily. "Another dud, I think," she said, stepping back so that Ollivander could collect the fallen wand. Behind her, she could hear the woman waiting in one of the painful-looking chairs by the front door to the shop explain to the little red-headed boy on her lap why Darcy had dropped her wand. A boy who looked about Darcy's age sat next to his mum and was flipping through a comic book. They'd arrived for their appointment ten minutes ago.

"Indeed. Perhaps a Maple wand would be more amenable. Or maybe a Willow, yes, try this." He slid a slim box out of the jumbled shelf behind the counter and took out the wand inside. Darcy took the wand. She felt a bit of warmth, but when she waved the wand around, nothing happened.

"Curious. Another then." She set the wand back in its box and Ollivander returned to considering the many boxes. Darcy swallowed hard, fearing that the bit of warmth she'd just felt was it. Maybe the Hogwarts letter was wrong. Maybe she was like her parents and just didn't have enough magic to do anything.

Darcy breathed in shakily and wished she'd taken up Jane on her offer to go in the wand shop with her. "You still do custom orders?" Darcy asked. "I've got this tree I like to climb. Maybe I could bring you a branch of that?"

Ollivander chuckled at her weak joke. "A good sense of humor. I think I have the wand for you. One moment." He disappeared through a small door to the left of the shelf where he'd pulled the willow wand.

Darcy turned to the people waiting. "Sorry this is taking so long," Darcy said. She added, shrugging, "What can I say, I'm a quirky girl. My name is Darcy Lewis. You starting this year, too?" She looked at the older of the two boys.

"Yeah, I'm Charlie. Charlie Weasley. This is my mum and my youngest brother, Ron."

Ron, upon hearing his name, struggled off his mother's lap and marched over to Darcy. "I saw the doctor today," he announced.

"You did?" Darcy asked, crouching down so she was eye-level to the boy. "What did he say?"

"I'm all good. He gave me a stinky potion and I drank it all without crying or spitting up even a little bit!"

Darcy clapped. "You're a very big boy then," she said.

"Ron," Charlie's mum called. "Stop bothering the young girl. Sorry, dear."

Darcy stood back up. "I don't mind. I've got cousins around his age. So Charlie, what House do you think you'll be in?"

Charlie laughed. "As if a Weasley was ever anything but Gryffindor." Then twirled one finger and said, "Behind you."

Darcy spun around. Ollivander waited with another box. "Sorry."

Ollivander raised a bushy white eyebrow, but only said, "Eleven and a half inches, Spruce and unicorn hair. A 'quirky' pairing for a rather tricky wood."

Darcy lifted the wand from the box. Immediately she started to smile. "Now this is more like it," she said, bringing the wand down in a broad slash. Nothing happened. Stricken, Darcy started to hand the wand back to Ollivander, but then she heard Ron excitedly ask his mother where the cake was. She paused and sniffed thoughtfully. The store smelled like a bakery.

"So this is my wand, then," Darcy said, wanting confirmation. She pulled the wand toward her protectively, still marveling how _right_ it felt in her grasp.

Ollivander smiled, which did nothing to alleviate his overall air of creepiness, and said, "Yes, Miss Lewis. I would say that this wand has indeed chosen you."

* * *

**Meanwhile-Three**

Clint escaped to the tree on the edge of his and Natasha's properties at least once a week. He set up targets at various distances away from the tree and shot at them from high among the branches. Without distractions, he learned to compensate for the height and the swaying of the tree. By the end of August he was hitting two of the six targets consistently in their centers, and one nearly so. Natasha never came to their wall.


	5. With a Bang

**A/N:** Sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter written and posted, but if you compare the length to previous chapters, I think you'll understand why. Many thanks to Llwyden, Stormwind13, spoke, Cinaed for the betas. Thanks also to Cinaed for being a patient and awesome alpha reader.

Title this time is from issue #104, "With a Bang-And a Whimper!"

Also! When I reach 50 reviews between here and AO3, I am going to celebrate by writing a one-shot of a character we've not yet seen. So, if you want to see Fury on the trail of the Memory Thief, Maria Hill being the best Head Girl since Lily Potter, Phil Coulson getting addicted to a comic book, or Loki convincing Thor what proper English _really_ sounds like, be sure to leave a review. Current count is 29/50. (Note: I will never hold a chapter hostage for reviews. This is just a way for me to have fun-without letting side stories take over so that this series never finishes).

* * *

**Darcy**

Darcy knew history. She was the daughter of a high school history teacher and a professional genealogist. She had grown up listening to debates over dinner and sample lectures in lieu of bedtime stories. History should _never_, in her opinion, be boring. Uninteresting, maybe-the history of the world was vast and it was hard to care about all of it-but boring? Never.

So it was not surprising that, of all her classes, she found History of Magic the most frustrating.

Jane was not at all sympathetic. "If it really bothers you so much, then look up the information for yourself."

Ravenclaws.

No, while the looking it up herself idea did actually have merit (the best stories are often the ones people think aren't appropriate for kids), Darcy hated that the other people in her class would still think that history was boring. Her parents had awesome jobs and she didn't want anyone to pity them more than they already did for being Squibs.

So, after a month of putting up with the most ridiculous teaching ever, Darcy Lewis raised her hand.

Professor Binns bleached white in shock. "Miss Louis?" The majority of the class turned her way. She took a deep breath.

"What about the dragons, sir?"

Charlie Weasley two rows up from her straightened in his chair.

"Dragons?" Professor Binns asked.

"Wasn't this about the time that goblins started using dragons?" She was only half sure of her answer. Jane might love the library, but Darcy had left after finding a couple books that seemed promising. The accounts in the books weren't much better than Binns, which just showed how desperately the Wizarding World needed better historians, or at least ones who could teach and write well, but one had mentioned dragons.

Professor Binns coughed. "Yes, well, it is recorded that the second battle in the third Goblin War did involve dragons, but that-" Charlie's hand was in the air in an instant. "Mr. Woolsey?"

"What kind of dragons?"

"Many historians are now in agreement that they were a type of Ridgeback."

"How did they get the dragons?" Tonks, one of Darcy's house mates, asked without waiting to be called on. "I thought they were protected."

Professor Binns blinked several times at the class, apparently amazed how many were actually paying attention. "Dragons came to Goblin possession via a rather interesting deal with the Trolls of Norway."

"Aren't trolls all stupid?" some Gryffindor across the room asked.

"Norwegian Trolls are more complicated than their more well-known counterparts. Some posit that they are more closely related to the Dwarfen race, though very little is known for certain as they are a secretive people and their homes are hidden deep within mountains. We only know of the deal between them and the goblins thanks to an impartial scribe who was brought in to manage the affair. Though the records only mention serpents, we now know that 'troll-snakes' refers to dragons."

Darcy raised her hand again, but spoke without waiting. "What was the deal?" she asked, genuinely interested.

The rest of the class period passed in that manner-whenever Binns started droning, someone would ask a question. As long as he was answering a question, he wasn't half as dull.

"That," Tonks said, slinging her arm over Darcy's shoulders after class, "was brilliant. Think we should do that every class?"

"Definitely," Darcy said, grinning. "Do you think he's right? That the trolls seriously traded away a _dragon_for a three-day concert?"

Tonks laughed. "Who knew goblins were such talented musicians?"

"Do you think that's why Flitwick does the frog choir? Latent goblin genes?"

"Genes?" Charlie Weasley asked, joining the girls.

Tonks waved dismissively. "Muggle thing."

"No," Darcy countered, pulling away from Tonks. "_Human_thing. Just because the Muggles got to it first doesn't mean it isn't important."

Tonks just rolled her eyes. "Wotcher, Weasley. Going to join Lewis here and me in our mission to make History a bit less snooze-worthy?"

"The questions thing?"

"Yeah," Darcy said. "We're going to pile him up with questions so he doesn't get a chance to lecture."

Charlie shrugged. "Sure. I'll see if I can talk any of the other Gryffindors around. Some might not be happy about losing nap time, though."

"Tell'm to stuff themselves," Tonks said. "We're starting a revolution here."

Darcy laughed. "We need t-shirts."

"A flag!"

"Buttons?" Charlie added.

Darcy and Tonks grinned at each other. "Buttons," Darcy repeated. "I think we could start a revolution with buttons."

"This is going to be amazing," Tonks asserted, once again throwing an arm around Darcy. She looped Charlie with her other. "We'll be the trio who changed Hogwarts."

Darcy laughed. "All we need's a scribe," she said. "You like to write, Charlie?"

"Are all Hufflepuffs this weird?" He ducked out of Tonks' grasp. They stopped where the hall diverged, their class down one branch, his down another.

"Of course," Darcy said. "House secret though, so don't tell anyone. Don't want anyone getting jealous at how awesome we are." She waved at him over her shoulder as Tonks dragged her down toward Charms. Charlie just shook his head at them and headed down the other branch.

"Think we scared him off?" Tonks asked as they found their seats in the Charms classroom.

"Nah," Darcy said. "I rode the train up with him. Judging by the stories he shared about his family, I bet he's been homesick for a bit of weird."

"Well, good thing he's got us then, isn't it?" Tonks asked, as if they'd been friends with Charlie for the past month, rather than just passing acquaintances.

"Indeed," Darcy said, and she mentally added Charlie to her small but growing circle of friends. She couldn't wait to write home to her parents about her day. The question thing had been her dad's idea, and she bet he'd be pleased to learn how it'd turned out.

* * *

**Steve**

"Mr. Rogers, a moment." Professor Quirrell stopped Steve after class.

"What do you need, Professor?" Steve asked, shifting the weight of his pack. He knew he hadn't been paying full attention that day and felt a bit guilty over it, but he already knew how Muggles made breakfast.

"Why did you sign up for Muggle Studies?"

Steve shrugged. "It's your class. Besides, I thought it'd be interesting to see what wizards thought about Muggles. Sorry about today."

Professor Quirrell smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Rogers, and it is fine. Your disengagement merely supports my thought that that this class is too easy for you."

"I don't want to quit." Steve like Professor Quirrell, and class wasn't always boring. He'd enjoyed when the professor had brought in photographs of breakfasts from all over England and the world. It was weird some of the things people would eat.

"I wasn't going to suggest that." The professor tapped his lips thoughtfully. "You drew the holiday cards last year, didn't you?"

Steve nodded. A lot of the first years in his house had wanted to exchange cards with their friends. When one student had seen his sketchbook, she'd asked him to draw a snowflake on her card for her. After that, he'd been doing sketches almost non-stop in the evenings until the holidays started.

"Perhaps you could do a special project for me instead, then." Professor Quirrell walked back to his desk and pulled a comic book from one of his drawers. "You've read this, I assume?" He held up a copy of _Warrior_.

"Not that issue, but yeah."

Professor Quirrell smiled and flipped through the comic. "Popular media, like this, reveals more about a culture than any textbook could. To really understand people, you have to go among them, see the things they see, do the things they do. Comics like this show what aspire to and recoil from."

Steve nodded again, uncertain where the professor was leading.

"I would like for you to make me a comic, Mr. Rogers. You can work with someone else if that'd make you more comfortable." Professor Quirrell handed him the issue of _Warrior._ "Pick some aspect of the Wizarding world that has surprised you. Explore the misconceptions Muggleborns have of wizards and that wizards have of Muggleborns. Instead of listening to me talk about electricity and breakfast cereals, I want you drawing. Shall we say four full pages a month? I'll keep you supplied in Muggle paper."

"Wow, Professor. That sounds great, but, er, are you sure it is academic enough?"

Professor Quirrell laughed. "If it makes you feel better, I will expect a paragraph per page explaining the source of the misconception with citations. At the end of each term, I will make copies of your comic for your classmates to share, and you will give a short presentation on one of the misconceptions you explored. Your final grade will be based on the comics, short paragraphs, and presentations. Acceptable?"

"That sounds perfect, Professor. Thank you, really."

That night, in the common room, Steve wanted to get a start on his comic, but he had no idea what to write. He thought about doing something based on what they were learning in Care of Magical Creatures, but he hadn't got much further than that.

"I should have signed up for Muggle Studies," Clint said once Steve had explained his assignment.

"I don't think pure bloods get the same special treatment," Bill commented, bouncing a wadded ball of parchment off of Clint's head. "What are you going to draw?"

Steve flipped through his bestiary for Care of Magical Creatures. "I don't know yet, but I heard all kinds of stories about elves and dragons and stuff growing up, and a lot of it isn't true at all."

"Dragons?" Bill's younger brother, Charlie half-jumped, half-fell over the back of the couch, landing beside Steve.

Bill groaned. "Please don't get him started. Go back to your friends, Charlie." He picked up his wad of parchment and launched it at Charlie. Charlie didn't even look as he caught the ball and threw it back.

"Shut it, Bill. Did you know that trolls bartered a dragon in exchange for music?"

"What?" Bill asked. "Where did you hear that?"

"History, of course," Charlie said. "Binns has some great stories."

"Binns? The droning ghost who doesn't know how to quit?" Clint asked.

While they continued to bicker, Steve flipped in his bestiary to the entries on dragons. Drawing them would probably be a lot of fun, lots of dynamic lines. Plus, there were lots of myths and fairy tales about them. "Where do dragons live?" he asked.

Charlie cut off mid-sentence, and turned back to Steve. "On reserves, mostly. Dragon keepers watch over them and make sure that Muggles don't discover them."

A dragon reserve, Steve thought, he could work with that. "Are there any reserves near Muggles?" he asked.

Charlie leaned back against the couch. "Most aren't, but I think the one in Ireland is. Why?"

"I bet the dragon keepers have to talk a lot with Muggles, then," Steve said. "It'd be easy for there to be misunderstandings and stuff. Like about dragons, electricity, the telly, fairies—" he trailed off in thought.

Charlie grinned. "You're going to write a comic about dragon keepers?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. Wish I could just draw though." He pulled a roll of parchment from his bag and started copying one of the dragon pictures from his book.

Charlie looked over his shoulder. "Not that one," he said. "Not for Ireland." He flipped back a page in Steve's book. "There, that's a Green. That's what they'd have."

"Thanks," Steve said. He moved his roll of parchment and started sketching the Green instead. Then, remembering Professor Quirrell's suggestion about working with a partner, he asked, "I don't suppose you like to write, do you?"

"He writes," Bill answered. "Our younger brothers always beg him to tell them bedtime stories."

Charlie's face pinked. "Yeah," he said. "I write. Why?"

"Well," Steve said. "Professor Quirrell said I could get a partner. You interested?"

Charlie's grin widened. "Definitely."

Steve returned the grin and started explaining everything the project involved. By the end of the night, they had an idea for a trio of main characters: two dragon keepers and a Muggle reporter. After Steve said he wanted to name the reporter "James" after his best friend, Charlie said they should make the one of the dragon keepers a girl then.

"That way the girls will read the comic, too," he said. "Plus, I bet we'll come up with even more misunderstandings if one of them is a girl."

Steve agreed and, after asking for name ideas from around the common room, they decided on Maeve and Finn. This was, Steve thought as he started sketching out character ideas, going to be the best project ever.

* * *

**Pepper**

Pepper Potts had never liked how Hogwarts let all the owls swirl around in the mornings delivering mail. Even the most careful and well-trained of owl would drop feathers. Some of the younger and more excitable owls dropped far worse. Her owl waited for her in the Owlery, just as the owls at home had waited in the hutch her father had built for them. The walk up to the Owlery each morning helped wake her and gave her a few quiet moments before the madness of the day could begin. So, she was understandably surprised when a massive black owl swooped down and landed between a bowl of croissants and her breakfast plate.

"Secret admirer?" Natasha asked.

Pepper accepted the rolled letter from the owl and skimmed over its contents. She shook her head. "The Malfoys want to meet me in Hogsmeade," she summarized.

"Good family," Natasha said. "How do you know them?"

"I don't," Pepper said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a self-inking quill. "Mr. Malfoy works with my aunt. Maybe it has something to do with that." She wrote out her acceptance of the invitation and bound the letter back to the owl's leg. He pushed off the table with a great beat of his wings and soared upward through the false sky.

"I guess you'll find out," Natasha said.

"I suppose."

In the weeks leading up to the first Hogsmeade visit, Pepper contacted her aunt and asked about her current dealings with Lucius Malfoy. Then she ordered back issues of the _Prophet_ and carefully read over them each evening after finishing her homework. Some nights Natasha would join her on her bed and circle all of the stories she thought were interesting, whether they were relevant or not.

"Love potion gone wrong," Natasha said, shifting the paper so Pepper could see. "A man was trying to make his sister-in-law fall in love with him, but instead made himself fall for his owl." The picture with the article showed a man with a large butterfly net chasing after a small brown owl.

"Poor owl," Pepper said.

Natasha laughed and turned to the next page in the issue. Pepper looked up to see her frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"Another victim of the Memory Thief turned up."

"Who was it this time?" Pepper asked.

"Mirabel Ells," Natasha said. "Wasn't she Head Girl our first year? She had that lip, right?"

Pepper nodded, taking the article from Natasha. "I wonder why the Memory Thief targeted her. There doesn't seem to be any pattern at all to his attacks."

"Do the Malfoys have any ties to the Aurors?" Natasha asked. "Maybe you can ask them."

"No ties," Pepper said. "According to my aunt, there is still a bit of bad blood between them from the war."

Natasha made a face. "Makes sense. I remember them coming around accusing my parents too," she said. "I had to testify even."

"Oh?"

"A Deatheater tried to say that my father was with him on my birthday. I had to go and tell the Wizengamot that they'd been home with me all day." Natasha shrugged, but Pepper could see she was still tense. "People like to believe the worst of my family."

"They're all idiots," Pepper said. She reached over and squeezed Natasha's arm lightly. Natasha's lips flickered in a smile and she took back the newspaper. Pepper watched her for a moment before returning to her own reading. Something was bothering Natasha, she was certain. She just wasn't sure how to ask her friend what it was.

When the Hogsmeade weekend arrived, Pepper felt she was as prepared as she possibly could be. "You'll be fine," Natasha assured her.

"I know," Pepper said. "That does not make me any less nervous."

"Go on," Natasha said. "I'll buy you a Butterbeer when you're done."

"Thanks," Pepper said. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked upstairs to one of the private rooms at the Three Broomsticks. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were awaiting her arrival at a small, ornate table. "Good afternoon," Pepper said, pausing at the threshold.

Narcissa Malfoy, a beautiful woman with pale blond hair, smiled at her. "Please come in, Miss Potts. We were just pouring our tea."

Pepper took the third place at the table and folded her hands in her lap. For the first fifteen minutes, the conversation was light and, to be honest, pointless. Pepper smiled graciously and sipped her tea. She acted as if she did not suspect a single ulterior motive for their invitation to tea and waited for them to make a move.

"Miss Potts," Narcissa said as she replaced her cup. "I have heard such good things about you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Pepper replied.

"Sixth in your class?" Narcissa asked, offering Pepper a slim sandwich.

"Fifth, actually," Pepper corrected. She accepted one of the sandwiches, but placed it uneaten on her plate.

"Your house mates seem certain that you will be named Prefect in two years."

"Most likely," Pepper agreed. Natasha had little interest in anyone outside their year, and Mimi's grades were appalling.

"You're that confident?" Lucius asked, raising one brow.

"I know my strengths, Mr. Malfoy," Pepper said.

The Malfoys exchanged a look that Pepper did not bother attempting to translate. She took a small bite of her sandwich and waited.

"You are also good with children," Narcissa said.

"Some children," Pepper said, wondering what their angle was now.

Narcissa smiled. "My husband and I are in need of a caretaker for our son for this summer."

"A caretaker?" Pepper asked, hoping she did not sound as disappointed as she felt.

"You would live with us, of course," Narcissa added. "When Draco is napping or in lessons, we hope that you will discuss Hogwarts with us. I realize Draco will not be starting at Hogwarts for several years, but a mother does worry, you know."

"Of course," Pepper said. She picked up her tea, her mind racing over everything she and Natasha had read in preparation. "The Ministry seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors is opening up next year, isn't it?"

Lucius smiled, slow and pleased. "Muriel Spelling did announce that she is stepping down."

"I know," Pepper said. "My aunt has been selected to lead the nominating committee to choose her replacement."

"Small world," Lucius murmured.

Pepper sat down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. She was certain they would start trembling at any moment. "I think my aunt would appreciate a candidate who provided students with a greater voice in the governing of Hogwarts."

"A student liaison?" Lucius asked.

"That is a very innovative thought, sir." Pepper looked up at him and forced herself not to look away. "My aunt would be interested in knowing whose idea it is, I think."

Lucius laughed. "Brava, Miss Potts. You shouldn't make promises you cannot secure, though."

Pepper shrugged and looked back down at her tea. "My aunt does wish to foster innovation, Mr. Malfoy. She even supported the British Wizarding Broadcasting Corporation. Perhaps I cannot guarantee your nomination, but I do believe that my support of you and the promise of a student liaison position would accomplish a lot more than simply accepting me into your home."

"Does that mean you wish to turn down the caretaker position?" Narcissa asked.

"No," Pepper said. "I think I could learn a lot within your home. Besides, Draco is a lovely child." She ate the last of her sandwich and excused herself from the table. "This is my first weekend in Hogsmeade," she said. "I look forward to corresponding more with each of you." She gave a shallow bow and left the upper room.

When Natasha saw her descending, she waved Madam Rosmerta for their Butterbeers. "How did it go?" Natasha asked.

"Well," Pepper said, giving her a shaky smile. "I survived."

Natasha pushed the first mug Madam Rosmerta sat on their table into Pepper's hands. "Were they worse than Stark?"

Pepper laughed. "On par, maybe," she said, and drank deeply from her mug.

* * *

**Bruce**

"Why is your name on the list to stay for Christmas?" Tony demanded, planting one hand firmly down on the page Bruce had been reading.

Bruce leaned back and pushed up his glasses. A few other students were studying in the library, but none of them seem bothered by Tony's outburst. "I can't exactly go home."

"Can't exactly-I wasn't suggesting you-_my house_, Bruce. Remember it? Spent the whole summer there?" Tony pulled back and sat down chair beside Bruce. "I thought you liked this summer," he added far more quietly.

"Tony, Christmas is for family."

"Well," Tony said, shrugging. "_Yeah_."

Bruce blinked. As he processed Tony's words, warmth spread through him like he'd just drunk Butterbeer. He looked back down at his Potions text, trying to hide the idiotic smile he knew was stretching across his face. "I'll let Professor Flitwick know then."

"Good._"_

Christmas at Tony's was as heartwarming and unreal as a holiday special on the telly—more Christmas on display than anything. Tony fit into his home's forced holiday cheer mostly by ignoring it. They holed up in his bedroom, re-watched tapes of old Doctor Who episodes, and traded theories on what the Sixth Doctor would be like. Tony was certain none could be worse than the Fifth Doctor; Bruce disagreed.

On the twenty-third, Tony got the bright idea that they should build a gingerbread house—from scratch. Jarvis found them sleeping in the kitchen early the next morning. Bruce had brown sugar pressed into cheek like pillow creases and molasses in his hair. Tony was stretched out along the counter top, hugging an empty bowl of half-made icing. The bowl's contents were spread out over his chest and dried white. At the other end of the counter stood three walls of iced gingerbread, each dotted with candies. Some gum drops had fallen off. Slips of paper marked them as A, B, and C. A fourth wall marked 'D' lay bare beside them. All four slabs were blackened around the edges.

"You look like a biscuit," Bruce said once Jarvis had ushered them up a back staircase to their rooms.

"Don't tell Pepper," Tony replied, yawning. "She'll start calling me that."

"No," Bruce said. "That's something_ you_ would do. Pepper's cleverer than that."

"You're right. Damn Slytherins."

Bruce laughed. "Right. You, Mister Hufflepuff, hate Slytherins _so_ much."

"And for that comment," Tony replied. "I'm taking the shower first." He shoved Bruce to the side and raced down the hall to the bathroom they'd been sharing.

"You have more than one shower," Bruce called after him.

Tony leaned out of the bathroom braced against the door jamb and knob. "It's the principle of the thing," he said. Then he swung backward, slamming the door shut. Bruce rolled his eyes, retrieved a change of clothes from his bedroom, and sought out one of the other showers in the house.

Still warm from his shower, Bruce stopped by the kitchen before returning to his room upstairs. The floor and counters were clean. A pan of gingerbread—their third attempt at baking it—was cut and ready for them to work with or eat. Jarvis was finishing washing the dishes by hand. "Aren't there other people-?" Bruce started to ask.

Jarvis gave him a kind smile from over his shoulder. "On Christmas Eve? I do not mind the work."

Bruce found a towel in one of the drawers near the sink and began to dry. Jarvis didn't say anything, except to point out which cabinet contained mixing bowls and which drawer held the large wooden spoons. "We shouldn't have made such a mess," Bruce said.

Jarvis handed Bruce a still dripping cup Bruce couldn't recall having used the night before. "I have been with the Starks for many years. I am well-acquainted with Master Stark's vintage of chaos."

"Oh, right."

Jarvis smiled, pausing as he lifted another cup from the soapy water. "I am thankful, however, that this particular incident did not involve some terribly inventive use of technology and, even more importantly, that he did not engage in endeavor alone." Before Bruce could fully process his meaning, Jarvis had rinsed the cup, asking, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah." He'd never made a gingerbread house before—even if he and Tony had never actually got around to the construction phase.

"Then the mess is of no consequence." Jarvis gently took the over-damp towel from Bruce. "I can finish the drying. You should go ensure Master Stark is not causing more mayhem."

"I think the only person who can stop Tony's mayhem is Pepper," Bruce said, gathering up his things to return to his room.

Jarvis affected a sigh. "Ah, yes, the illustrious Miss Potts. I look forward to making her acquaintance."

"I think she'd like you," Bruce said. He didn't know Pepper all that well, but he did think she'd appreciate anyone else who could also keep Tony in line.

"Go on," Jarvis said, returning to the sink. "You will simply have to do your best."

"Happy Christmas," Bruce said, and he darted out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room. Bruce still felt awkward in the room Tony had declared to be his. Though his possessions were scattered throughout, the bed was twice as large as the one he'd had at home. The window was on the wrong wall. He had a desk and two bookcases filled with science fiction novels and Potions texts. Bruce tried to tell Tony that it was too much or that his father couldn't possibly approve spending so much money on him, but Tony refused to listen. Bruce did like the room, even if it didn't feel completely like _his_ yet.

After tossing his dirty clothes into a hamper, Bruce walked down the hall to Tony's room. The door was half-open and Bruce could hear Tony's father talking. Howard Stark confused Bruce. On the one hand, he had accepted Bruce into his home without a question. On the other, Bruce could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen the man over the summer. He knew better than to eavesdrop, but instead of returning to his room, he stepped closer to the door.

"And the exams?" he heard Tony ask.

"You will take your O-Levels this summer," Mr. Stark said. "Torquay has already agreed to enroll you for the fall, providing your scores aren't abysmal. The Headmaster has agreed to start you directly on your A-Levels."

"Hogwarts?"

"You seem to have control over yourself now. No reason for you to continue wasting your time there."

Bruce's stomach tightened. He thought of the journals Tony had been reading through earlier that summer, the designs he doodled in the margins of his notes, and the comments he'd made frequently during their first year about being at Hogwarts under duress. Bruce had thought it all just a joke.

Bruce edged away from the door and returned to his own room. Tony was leaving. Tony hadn't even _tried_ to stay at Hogwarts. Bruce looked around the comfortable, yet alien room. Then, he went to his closet, pulled out a bag and began to pack. With each item he shoved into the bag, he felt a bit angrier.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, appearing in the doorway.

"Packing."

"On Christmas Eve?"

Bruce zipped up his bag. "I heard you talking with your dad."

"Torquay?" Tony asked. He leaned against the doorframe. "Did you know Yorick Wilks attended there? He published a book earlier this year on language processing that is—"

"You want to go," Bruce interrupted, flatly.

Tony looked at him, confused. "Torquay is a great school. Not quite prestigious enough for my dear father, but he's seen reason now."

Bruce breathed in and out deeply. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since this summer," Tony replied.

"What about Hogwarts."

"Is that what this is about?" Tony asked, entering the room and sitting down at Bruce's desk. "I never fit in at Hogwarts. Not really."

Bruce clenched his sheets. "Funny," he said, forcing his voice to keep even and calm. "I thought you fit in just fine. Must've just been my imagination, all those times with you, me, and Jane."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Right," Bruce said. "I'm going then."

"What?" Tony stood up so fast the desk chair nearly toppled. "Why? We don't have to attend the same school for you to make this your home."

"Half a year, Tony. You never even gave a _hint_."

"I didn't know for sure that it'd work out until just now," Tony protested. "Where are you going?" He darted sideways to the door, grabbing onto either side of the frame.

"Remus'. Get out of my way."

Tony tilted his chin up at him. "No."

Bruce tossed his bag over Tony's shoulder, causing him to flinch. The moment was enough for Bruce to break past him. Bruce ran down the stairs, pushing past Jarvis, and out to the street. Remembering a story Jane and Darcy had shared earlier that year, he stuck out his wand and boarded the Knight Bus before Tony could burst out of his house to stop him.

Bruce gave Remus' address to the driver and then collapsed on one of the seats toward the back of the Bus. He refused to think about anything that had happened until he'd reached Remus' home.

"Bruce?" Remus asked as he answered the door.

"Mind if I stay a few days?" he asked.

"Come on in," Remus invited. "I thought you were spending the holiday with a friend." At that moment, all of the emotion Bruce had been holding back surged forward. He told Remus about how he'd thought he'd found a true friend, but how Tony had only been marking time until he could escape back into the Muggle world. Remus hugged him close and tight. "I understand," he said.

"You have a best friend lie and go behind your back, too?" Bruce asked, skeptical.

"Yes," Remus replied. "Come on." He carried Bruce's bag into a room with desk shoved in one corner, a small television in another, and a long couch with worn cushions stretched out between them. "I hope you don't mind sleeping on a sofa."

Bruce shook his head. "Anything's fine. Sorry for barging in like this."

"You're always welcome here," Remus said. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Bruce admitted.

"Let's go out," Remus said. "The Cauldron does a decent Christmas meal. We can also pick up anything you forgot to bring with you."

Over lunch and while out buying extra food, a tooth brush, and other little things, Remus asked Bruce about his classes and his transformations. He also asked about Jane and whether or not Bruce had made any progress in toppling Darcy as her number one friend. The conversation reminded him of ones he and his mother used to have when his father was out.

The only downside to the outing occurred at Flourish and Blotts. Bruce was browsing the Potions books on the main level of the store, when he'd heard Professor Snape say his name. "I did not expect to see you in Wizarding London, Mr. Banner."

"Professor Snape," Bruce said, smiling. "I finished that book on Potions bases you recommended.

"And what did you learn from—Lupin." Professor Snape's pleasant look hardened into a glare.

"Severus," Remus greeted. He stepped forward and rested one hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Are you all right here, Bruce?"

Bruce glanced between the two men he most looked up to. "I'm fine," he said, uncertainly.

"We should get home," Remus said. "Severus, it was nice to see you."

"I fear I cannot say the same," Professor Snape replied, turning and walking away swiftly enough that his robes billowed.

"What was that?" Bruce asked.

"We were in the same year at Hogwarts," Remus said. "We…did not get along well."

Bruce looked back in the direction Professor Snape had left. "That seems a bit of an understatement."

Remus sighed. "Let's just go," he said.

The rest of the holiday passed quietly. Bruce wrote Jane, explaining why he had left Tony's home and assuring her he was safe and enjoying the holiday. Tony wrote him twice, but Bruce did not open either letter.

When Hogwarts resumed, Bruce realized all of the consequences of his holiday. He and Tony were still not speaking. They had tried, on the Express back to Hogwarts, but awkward conversation had devolved into an argument when Darcy had asked everyone what they'd got for Christmas. Bruce had to admit that he'd not received any of the gifts that had been delivered to Tony's home, and then explain why. Jane had tried to mediate, but the argument had still ended with Tony leaving the compartment.

After that, he and Tony did not talk to one another. Jane alternated between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables for breakfast, but even she spent more time with Darcy than Tony. Though Bruce's rage calmed, he was still angry enough to see little point in trying to repair a friendship that would be lost within a few months anyway.

The worst consequence, however, was the one he hadn't expected. After his first Potions class of the new term, Professor Snape asked him to stay after class.

"Is everything all right, Professor?" Bruce asked.

Professor Snape gave him a long, assessing look from behind his desk. "You are a very quick pupil with a natural aptitude for the brewing arts."

Bruce blinked, startled. Professor Snape never gave such compliments. "Er, thank you?"

"I was hoping you would want to deepen your understanding further."

"Yes, yes, please." Bruce grinned. "That would be—yes, sir, I would."

"Excellent," Snape said without inflection. "We will start with ingredient gathering and preparation techniques. Come by after dinner on Monday. I will demonstrate how best to milk a thistle."

"The full moon is on Monday," Bruce said, deflating.

"I am aware, Mr. Banner. Many ingredients are most potent when gathered or prepared in certain phases."

Bruce looked down and tightened his grip on his books. "I can't."

Professor Snape's gaze hardened. "As I thought," he said. "Get out." When Bruce didn't move, he added, "_Now_, Mr. Banner."

Bruce jumped and hurried out the door. In his next Potions class, and every class afterward, Professor Snape did not once call on him, check his work, or otherwise acknowledge his existence in any way. Bruce wrote Remus about the situation.

Remus replied:

_While many people in our world hold onto their prejudices out of ignorance, Professor Snape does not. When we were in school, a former friend of mine told him where to find me during the full moon. Had another friend not intervened, I would have killed him. I have apologized repeatedly for that day, but sometimes damage cannot be undone. I am sorry for the pain this is causing you as well._

Bruce read the letter several times from within the safe haven of his canopied bed. He was losing everything—his mother, Tony, Potions, Professor Snape. His throat tightened with the threat of tears, and he curled into a ball around his pillow. Sleep did not come easily that night; and, when it finally arrived, it brought only nightmares.

* * *

**Natasha**

When Natasha was four years old her parents gave her a stuffed snake that hissed when she played with it. She wore the snake around her neck for weeks until her parents hid it away. Instead of throwing a fit, she'd ordered a House Elf to find and return the snake to her.

She'd heard the story countless times. Her parents liked to share it as part of their 'natural Slytherin' litany. She still had the snake—tattered and torn, the hissing charm long worn off. She'd found it again over the holidays under her bed—along with a painting. She didn't remember receiving either one. The snake she could understand, after all, who remembered their fourth birthday? The painting, however, was newer. She knew it was a gift from Steve. His signature in the lower left corner assured her of that.

She had been trying to forget her questions from the summer. Parents were supposed to be trusted. Her life was not terrible enough to demand she escape it. Her life was not terrible at all.

But her only memories of her fourth birthday party were the ones she'd been told again and again.

And her only memories of receiving Steve's painting were a blank.

Back at Hogwarts, Natasha woke early on the first day of classes. Rather than return to sleep, she went out for a walk in the half-lit dawn. A few other students were studying before breakfast in the Great Hall, but the castle was otherwise hushed. Natasha slipped out into the courtyard where snow—pink and orange from the rising sun—dusted the bare tree branches and ground.

To her surprise, the courtyard was already occupied. Tony Stark sat slumped on one of the benches facing away from her. She had never seen him so still.

"Bad holiday?" Natasha asked, joining him on the cold bench. He looked up at her, startled. Gray sagged beneath his eyes, and Natasha wondered if he had slept at all.

Stark snorted. "Yours?"

Natasha waved a hand to say 'so-so' and then, holding onto the bench, leaned back and tipped her face up to the sky. "What do you know about pensieves?"

"Not much. Read a bit on them first year."

Natasha nodded. She could find answers on her own, but Stark knew his way around the library better than she did. And, his researching some topic in-depth would not raise questions, while her doing the same certainly would.

"What do you want, Romanov?" Stark asked. "You don't like me and Pepper isn't here."

Natasha stood, decision made, and brushed snow from her skirt. "Find out more about pensieves."

Stark held her gaze and then shrugged. "What the hell. I could use a distraction."

Natasha walked back into the warmth indoors without a backward glance. She did not speak to Stark again until after a Potions class in early February. No matter how good an influence Pepper was, she couldn't stop every disaster—especially when Stark had decided to transition from morose to manic over the break-up of the brain trust. The class had ended with an explosion of pink gas that powdered as soon as it touched anything dry. Even though the pink mess did not seem to have any other effects beyond a good and solid coating, Snape had dismissed the class early.

"Maybe I just need to study more," Stark wheedled as he followed her and Pepper out of the classroom. "What do you say? You, me, a quiet library by moonlight?"

"Not now, Tony," Pepper said, turning toward the Slytherin dorms.

"Later then?" Stark called back. Natasha shook her head and started to follow Pepper, but stopped when Stark asked, "What about you, Romanov? Dessert tonight in the library?" He wagged his eyebrows. "I'll bring the study materials, if you provide the sweets."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, but Stark's grin was unwavering. Then he winked like a five year old and turned toward the Hufflepuff dorms. Natasha frowned and chased after Pepper. Until he'd ruined it with that ostentatious wink, Stark had been almost Slytherin.

"What did Tony want?" Pepper asked once Natasha had caught up.

"Dessert."

Pepper sighed. "He's a pest."

"Your pest," Natasha teased.

Pepper groaned. "I can't do this another year," she said, gesturing to the trail of pink behind them.

"They have to put us with another House eventually," Natasha said, before giving the password to a bare space of wall.

"That's just it," Pepper said, following her in and up the stairs to their room. "I'm not sure that they do. I got a copy of the school's charter from Mr. Malfoy. It doesn't say Houses should mix evenly in classes or anything like that."

"And if we're with Hufflepuff again next year?" Natasha asked. The pink dust clung to all of her clothes as she pulled out a fresh change for after her bath.

"I don't know," Pepper said, sitting on the edge of her bed, seemingly unaware of the dust settling over her covers. "But I am tired of simply waiting for the problem to pass."

"I thought you liked Stark."

Pepper hummed. The thoughtful noise turned into a groan when she noticed the pink around her. "Just because I do not mind his company does not mean I want to spend another year as the Official Tony Wrangler in Potions." She stood up and swiped futilely at the pink on her bed. "We should get cleaned up."

Natasha tossed her a towel.

That evening, after dinner, Natasha made her way to the library, both curious and nervous about what Stark might be able to tell her. Hesitating only a moment at the door, she pushed inward to the library. Stark was waiting at one of the smaller tables by the windows. He'd used the sill as a shelf and, as she drew closer, she could see that the books were all related to pensieves or the mind in some capacity. Stark glanced up as she took the seat across from him.

"You came."

"I want answers." She tilted her head toward the row of books. "You read all of those?"

"Skimmed. Not like I had anything else to do."

"Your friends—" Natasha started, and then hesitated.

"Won't bother us," Stark finished for her. He glanced out the window. "Especially not tonight. Don't worry. I haven't said anything to anyone."

"That isn't—" Natasha stopped. Stark's issues were none of her concern. "What do you know about pensieves?" she asked instead.

"Enough," Stark answered with a glimmer of the arrogance he occasionally displayed in class. "What do you need to know?"

"What would make a memory thick and slow and—"

"—I get the picture," Stark interrupted. "The memory was altered. The magic changes the physical manifestation of the thought. Pollutes it, really."

Natasha looked out the window and processed this. The full moon hung heavy over the trees; its distorted reflection rippled over the lake. Her parents had altered her memories. "Can you fix it?" she asked. "Can a memory be changed back?"

Stark shook his head. Natasha gripped the edges of her chair until her fingers hurt. "Are you all right?" Stark asked, his brow wrinkling.

Natasha glared at him, her mind casting for any way to change the subject when she noticed a smear of pink on the edge of his collar. "You missed a spot," she said, looking pointedly at the smear.

"What?" Stark asked, raising one hand to his throat.

"Left," Natasha directed. Stark moved his hand, brushing over the pink. "There." He rubbed and then looked at his fingers.

"Stubborn menace," he said, wiping his fingers on the table. "Took forever washing it off."

"You don't say." He looked at her guiltily. "Why do it then?" she asked before he could respond. "According to Pepper, it wasn't completely a mistake."

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "I want to go out on a bang. Besides, can you imagine the practical implications of a gaseous powder as a delivery system? I'm not certain how you'd bind a potion to it yet—not really my field, you know, but—"

Natasha held up one hand. "Wait," she said, stopping him. "What do you mean 'go out on a bang'?"

Stark grinned, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "Haven't you heard?" he asked. "This is my last year at Hogwarts." He stood. "I should go. Birthday party in the dorms, you know how it is. Chocolate cake and, if I have my rumors right, a special performance from Wagtail and McCormack. Not really something to be missed." He turned and waved over his shoulder. "Let me know if you have any more research projects come up. Any friend of Pepper's—" he glanced back at her "—well, you know how it goes."

Natasha let him leave. She wondered if he was serious about this being his last year, and whether or not it was even possible to leave Hogwarts without being either magically of age or expelled. Pepper would probably know, but then Natasha would have to explain why she was asking. She wasn't sure of the best way to tell Pepper she didn't have to worry about Potions in the upcoming year, whether they were paired with Hufflepuff again or not.

Natasha picked up the book closest to her in the sill. The book spine read _The Encyclopedia of Mental Arts_. She opened the book to where a scrap of parchment was sticking out and read the entry on pensieves. The half-page entry did not contain anything she did not already know. Natasha flipped idly back through the book, stopping to read anything that seemed interesting. Near the start of the Os, the phrase 'mental defense' caught her eye.

She turned back to the start of the entry. If she couldn't restore the memories her parents had manipulated, maybe she could keep them from doing any further damage. Occlumency seemed to be the exact tool she required. Natasha removed the parchment scrap from the Ps and replaced it on the lengthy entry about Occlumency. She did not have all the answers yet, but she wasn't hiding from the questions any longer. And, she had a plan, almost. She was going to figure everything out.

* * *

**Jane**

Jane knew her sanity was slipping when she started to seriously consider Darcy's suggestion of locking Tony and Bruce in a closet and waiting until they worked everything out. Darcy was her best friend, but Tony and Bruce could follow her intellectually in directions Darcy had no interest in going. Between the three of them, Jane was certain they could solve anything. Except now they were broken, and Jane had no clue how to make them work again.

"Maybe we could get Filch to lend us some of his chains, and we cuff them together," Darcy suggested.

Jane smiled weakly. "I think the professors might have a problem with that."

"Hmm, maybe we could bribe a professor to give them detentions together for a month. Neither's on Snape's good list anymore; maybe he'd do it."

Jane shook her head. "I don't think it's that simple."

"And I think you're overcomplicating," Darcy countered. She crossed her ankles against a tree trunk, her hair spread over the edge of their blanket and into the grass. "They just need to communicate."

A breeze blew over the lake, turning the pages of the book Jane had long since given up reading that afternoon. She closed the book and lay down beside Darcy. "And what are they going to 'communicate' that they've not already said?"

"One," Darcy said, holding one finger high above her head, "Tony needs to apologize for not saying anything sooner. Part of the reason Bruce is so angry is that he found out after the fact. Two!" She raised a second finger and waved her arm to the side so that Jane could see. "Bruce needs to apologize for not listening to Tony and then leaving him alone on Christmas."

"He wasn't alone," Jane interjected.

Darcy gave her a side-long glance. "Jane, he talks more about his butler than he does his father. That's not normal. Anyway, three! Bruce needs to explain how this whole mess makes him feel. And, four! Tony needs to explain why he wants to attend a Muggle school. And five! They actually have to listen to each other." Darcy dropped her hand back to her stomach.

"So," Jane said. "Locking them together in a closet?"

Darcy laughed. "We should probably provide scripts. I know a Gryff who could help us out."

Jane's smile faded. "Seriously, though, what am I going to do?"

"Nothing really you can do," Darcy said. "They'll come to their senses eventually."

"The term is nearly over," Jane countered. "We don't have time for 'eventually'."

"Just let them know you still care for them. That's really all you can do at this point."

"Let them know I care," Jane repeated. Her eyes widened and she sat up.

"Let me guess," Darcy said, rolling onto her side. "Idea?"

Jane grinned. "Idea," she confirmed. She shoved her books back into her bag and stood up. "You don't mind not being number one best friend, do you?"

"Just go," Darcy said. She waved her toward the castle and rolled onto her back again. "I'm going to stay out here and continue enjoying the sunlight. I'm confident enough in our friendship to relinquish my spot."

Darcy had listed all the topics Tony and Bruce needed to share with each other, but Tony and Bruce weren't the only members of their friendship. Jane had been keeping silent on the subject as well, not wanting to make the situation worse. Now, with the term finishing up, it was time to _communicate_.

Jane dragged Tony down to Bruce's room beneath Ravenclaw tower. She had already got Bruce down into the room with promises of sweets from Honeyduke's. Now she just had to hope he didn't leave as soon as she showed up with Tony.

Bruce surged to his feet as soon as she brought Tony into the room. "Sit." Jane pointed. When Tony started to protest, she swung her finger to him. "Sit," she repeated. "Now, I am going to talk to each of you and you will listen." Jane put every bit of steel and willpower she'd ever heard from her mother to use. Neither boy argued. "Good." Jane sat down with her back against the door. She looked to Tony. "So, Tony, Muggle school?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because—" Bruce started.

Jane glared at him. She did not need another fight about 'wasting time' or any other reason Bruce had concocted over the past months. Jane had sat through enough of their arguments to know when to cut them off now. "No, Bruce. I'm talking to Tony now. Tony?"

"My life after Hogwarts is going to be in the Muggle world. Every year I spend here, I fall further behind."

"You're going to leave the Wizarding World?" Jane asked.

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "I can't ignore that magic exists. I can't ignore everything it is capable of, but with the Statute in place, I can't combine anything I know. All the questions I want to ask are Muggle ones. Why should I stay?"

"That's not true," Bruce said. "Alchemy, magical portraiture, designing new charms—you have plenty of Wizarding questions."

"Bruce," Jane cut in before the conversation could heat up. "What are you doing for the summer?"

Bruce leaned back on his hands. "Not sure yet. Remus has offered up his couch, but I don't want to impose."

"You still have a room at my place," Tony said. "Though, if you prefer a sofa, I suppose I could replace your bed."

"I still have a room?" Bruce asked.

"It even has your unwrapped Christmas presents in it," Tony said. "I've tried telling—"

"Tony," Jane cut in. "Bruce. You are two of my best friends. I hate when we're not talking to each other. Tony, I wish you had said something about leaving Hogwarts sooner, and I am going to miss you incredibly, but I want you to be happy. Plus, I am not accepting any excuses about being on a Muggle campus for not writing at least twice a month. And, Bruce, if you ever need a place to stay, you only have to ask. You're one of my best friends. That's never going to change."

"Stuck forever at number two, though," Bruce said, reaching for the tired, old joke.

Jane shook her head. "I've abolished the ranking system. As far as I'm concerned, you're both tied at first with Darcy."

"Hear that?" Tony asked, glancing at Bruce. "All it took was us not speaking to each other for roughly four months."

Jane glanced between them, her breath held. Even _she_ could see the peace branch being offered.

"Now we know what to do next time we need Jane to change her mind," Bruce responded.

Jane let out her breath in a loud, happy sigh. She wasn't naïve enough to think that everything was solved between them, but at least she'd got them to listen a bit to each other. She stood up and reached for the door knob behind her. "I'll let you guys talk," she said. "You both have some catching up to do."

After closing the door, Jane traced runes into it. She did not use any special pattern, nor did she remember any proper words. She just reached back to her earliest lessons and pushed all of her hope into the tracings—Wunjo and Ehwaz—joy, harmony, and partnership. Jane rested her forehead against the door and simply _hoped_. She did not know what else she could do; she needed her friends back.

* * *

**Tony**

First years, upon entering the Hufflepuff common room for the first time, received two things: a bag of buttons and a slip of parchment. The buttons were a house currency of favors and money that operated far more on the honor system than Tony thought feasible. The parchment was for the Calendar.

The Calendar was hung on the back wall of the common room, opposite the fire place. Whoever had created the tapestry had chosen a wheel format for the calendar, rather than the typical boxes. Every student wrote their name on their slip of parchment and affixed it to the small slice of the year that was their birthday. Important holidays—many of which had been new to Tony—were tracked near the center of the calendar. At the end of each year, the seventh year students removed their parchment slips and placed them in the along the edges of the calendar with the rest of the alumni. Every day the Calendar rotated so that the current day was low and center. Every birthday was celebrated in Hufflepuff. Even the alumni received cards.

Whenever he was restless, Tony would return to his research on magical weaving and, by extension, portraiture. The field was far more complex that it seemed with a great number of the explanations boiling down to 'well, it works, doesn't it?' Tony's own birthday was only just past and so still within easy reach.

"What are you doing?" Tony jumped and turned around. Kirley McCormack was leaning back against the wall by the fireplace. "Last I checked you weren't a seventh year yet."

Tony looked down at his strip of parchment. Someone must have put a preserving charm on it since it didn't seem to have aged at all. "I'm not coming back next year," Tony said. Professor Sprout knew, but Tony hadn't wanted the rest of his house to find out. They would have thrown him a going away party.

"So?" Kirley asked. He pushed off the wall and sat down on the arm of the over-stuffed chair closest to Tony. "Look, Stark, life's full of things you can change. Personally, as soon as I get out of here, I'm chucking my last name and getting as far out of my family's shadow as possible. House, though, that's forever."

"I'm not going to be at Hogwarts," Tony said.

Kirley rolled his eyes and plucked the parchment from Tony's fingers. He stood and approached the calendar. "Which of these days is yours?"

"May 29th."

Kirley located the day and then placed Tony's name near the outer edge with the alumni. "There, that way we know just to send you a card next year and not throw a party."

"Forever, really?" Tony tried not to sound overly skeptical.

"You'll be older than Dumbledore and wee firsties will still be signing a card for you every year. M' mum still does."

"Ravenclaw doesn't have a calendar," Tony said.

"Well, that's Ravenclaw," Kirley said, walking back toward the boys' rooms. "They can be a bit dim about some things." He stopped in the round doorway and pointed toward Tony. "Get to bed soon. And don't you dare think about removing your name again."

"Practicing to be a prefect, McCormack?"

"Half hour, Stark, and then I'm hexing your bed."

"I'll be back soon. I just—" Tony stopped. He didn't know what he wanted.

Kirley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," Tony agreed. He lay down on one of the couches by the fire and wondered, not for the first time, if he was doing the right then.

As the last days of the term slipped past, Tony wandered the castle more and more. He talked with portraits, asking them how much they remembered from their lives and how much memory they built up anew. He tried mapping the castle again, but gave up before he'd finished the second floor. He stole a camera off Darcy and filled up two rolls of film of hallways, paintings, and classrooms. He wanted to remember everything.

On the last morning of the term, he found himself in the Owlery trying to determine the average load each school owl handled over the years, and whether the current number of owls was optimal. He was pondering how he could apply owls to information packets when Pepper walked in carrying a cage.

"Tony?"

In his surprise, all of his mental numbers went flying like owl feathers. "Pepper."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Tony looked at the perches and the owls blinking back at him. "Counting? What are you doing?"

Pepper gave him a strange look. "Getting my owl," Pepper said, lifting the cage. "You're up early. Normally you're one of the last in for breakfast."

She'd noticed him. The thought warmed him. "Couldn't sleep," he said. "Thought I'd come up here to watch the sun rise, but then I got distracted."

"By counting owls." A small tawny owl flew to Pepper's wrist and she guided it into the cage.

"Essentially."

"I don't even want to know." Pepper latched the cage and walked back to the staircase. "Coming?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "Might as well." After walking a flight of steps in silence, Tony asked, "So, are you going to miss me next year?"

"Why would I miss you?" Pepper asked.

"Romanov didn't tell you?" He hoped Romanov hadn't told her.

"Tell me what?" Pepper asked. She stopped and then stepped down and in front of Tony. "What should I know that I don't know?"

"I'm not coming back." Pepper's eyes narrowed, then her face tightened and she turned around, stomping down the stairs. "No. Natasha didn't tell me. Why aren't you coming back?" Then she stopped again. Tony nearly tripped over her. "You're transferring to a Muggle school."

"Yeah." He was surprised she'd made the connection so quickly. "How'd you guess?"

"You told me," she answered. "The train, first year. _Merlin_, I'd thought you were joking. So why now?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "Daddy dearest just agreed suddenly." They finished the descent to the Great Hall with Pepper asking questions about Torquay, what he would study, and whether or not he'd ever return to the Wizarding world. When they reached the final floor, Pepper surprised him by putting down her owl and pulling him into a tight hug.

"Of course I'm going to miss you," she said. Then, pulling back, she added, "Not in Potions, though. In Potions, I might just rejoice." She grinned, her eyes were extra bright. "You'll write?"

"Jane's already threatened me if I don't," Tony assured her.

"Good. Go ahead and get breakfast," Pepper said. "I need to go put Ozzy in my room. I'll see you on the train."

"Yeah, see you there," Tony said. Jane and Bruce were waiting for him at the Hufflepuff table. Darcy, who was across from Jane, handed Tony an envelope as he sat down.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Just open it," Darcy said. "McCormack's been passing it around all week."

Tony opened the envelope. The front of the card read, "Don't forget." Tony's lips quirked in a half smile and he opened the card. The inside, in all capitals, read, "FOR LIFE." Tony laughed. All around it were signatures and notes saying he would be missed. Even Jane and Bruce had claimed a corner together and written a short message each.

"You guys do realize we're going to see each other again, right? Every holiday even," Tony joked.

"Told you he'd ruin the moment," Bruce said, leaning over to Jane. Jane flicked a piece of bread at Bruce's forehead.

"I'm going to miss you guys," Tony said, slipping the card back into the envelope.

"Likewise," Jane said. Midway through breakfast, Pepper joined them. She slid into the open seat by Tony and reached for a plate without any explanation. Tony tried to press every second of the breakfast into his memory. He didn't want to ever forget.

* * *

A/N: Pepper's owl is named for Ozymandias. Kirley McCormack is the youngest in his year. After Hogwarts he will change his surname to Duke and gain fame through the Weird Sisters. The Memory Thief is a Harry Potter canon character. The British Wizarding Broadcasting Corporation is also HP canon. Torquay is Torquay Boys' Grammar School in Devon. [29/50]


End file.
